The Further Adventures of Roxie and Tony
by threesquares
Summary: As Booth might say, "you really like going undercover, huh, Bones"? What if Booth and Brennan sometimes let go, and just...pretend to be someone else, *someones* else? A series of stories in which they do just that and what happens at the end because of it. Rated T for the sexual tension that comes with these two. Set within cannon for a while, but then maybe not so much.
1. Chapter 1 - How it Begins

**A/N: I do not own Bones, and the dialogue here from Judas on a Pole is meant to set the story in time and to celebrate the work of the writers of this story and that episode. Thank you to Huronia, Title Maven, for the title to the series.**

* * *

"I guess, I guess I am just one of those people who doesn't get to be in a family."

"Hey...hey, Bones. There is more than one kind of family..."

Brennan gazed up at him, intent. He was rarely sure of what she took from what he said, but he can't, he can't just let her _look _like that. Desolate and resigned.

The sound of knuckles on glass interrupted. His finger dropped from her chin. They both looked over to see Zach smiling and waving them in.

"Let me guess. Zach got the _job_." Brennan smiled and pulled him with her into the comfort of her own makeshift family. Not...quite...his yet, but getting there, despite his reservations. The fact that he and Cam are...whatever they are...is not making matters any clearer, and not for the first time, Booth wondered if it was worth it, if he had needlessly complicated something already pretty complicated. Brennan leaned back into him as he opened the door to the diner to usher her in ahead of him. Her hair brushed his chin and her back pressed against his chest briefly as she leaned back to miss the edge of the door swinging out at them. The scent of her hair, her powder or perfume or face cream or whatever, triggered a memory and for a moment, it was as if he was back in that room, zipping up _that_dress, slipping Roxie's hand through his arm as they headed to Joe's Gym.

As Booth clappped Zach on the shoulder with an open palm-_Christ if he just somehow just signalled that they were Best Buds now or even worse, that they regularly talked to each other, he was going to kill Bones-_an idea formed. _Shit, Seeley, didn't you just realize that things were complicated enough? _

But as he greeted the others, responding to Cam's surreptitious pinch of his ass with a wink and a quick stroke of his own hand over her cuvy behind, the idea wouldn't let him go. He had already started figuring out the details, and when, in an undertone, Cam asked about his plans for tonight, he put her off til tomorrow night, Saturday. Anticipation bloomed in his stomach. It _was_ a good idea, would cheer Bones up, plus it would be _fun. _He ducked out early to let them finish their celebration without him and to start putting plans in place for tonight. He was taking a risk, that Bones hadn't made plans for tonight, but he thought he was pretty safe.

An hour later, having secured tickets and reservations for dinner, he texted Bones.

U have plans fr tnght?

No, Booth. Just staying in. Probably reading.

Want to do smthg w me?

Booth, I just want to read. "Licking my wounds," I believe you would call it.

Trust me?

Booth...

TRUST me!

All right then. What time?

We have rez at 7

What sort of attire?

Left you deets at ur apt

At my apartment?!...

Booth grinned, but didn't answer this one, nor did he answer the next two. She'd figure it out. He locked up her apartment behind him and headed out to the rental place to pick up his own clothes.

B&B

* * *

"Something wrong, Brennan? That's the fifth time you have checked your phone in the last minute." I looked up at Angela and made a face, shrugged.

"No. It's just Booth. He's not texting me back."

"Everything ok?"

"Yes, of course. I just wanted him to answer a question and he is being obstinate." I turn away and Angela crosses to Hodgins. The impromptu party is winding down. Suddenly, I feel fatigue wash over me. It seems incredible that this is still the same day that my father both revealed himself and drove off without me again. Zach got his doctorate, a job. And now, now, I have agreed to go out with Booth when all I really want to do is get in a hot bath with a glass of wine and a book. I sigh and look at my phone one last time. Maybe I could cancel.

_Trust me._

I did trust him, but this isn't a case, isn't anything special. Just a night in, by myself. And now we have _reservations_. I'm not hungry, but 7 is still hours away, I suppose it will be ok. I am intrigued-and a little bit irritated-by the fact that he left me the details of our night out at my apartment. I gave him that key for _emergencies_. I repress another sigh and as the others all gather their things to leave, I lean in and whisper to Zach.

"Congratulations again, Dr. Addy." He turns and beams at me. I feel a little upsurge of energy. I'm glad he is so happy.

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. Did you see Agent Booth clap me on the shoulder with an open palm?"

I clap him on the shoulder again myself. "I did, Zach."

He looks at me shrewdly. "Thank you. Did you tell him what it meant?"

I laugh. "No. I didn't. You could probably torture him by pretending that he agreed to take you shooting or something."

Now it is Zach's turn to look alarmed. "No, Dr. Brennan. I think I'll just leave things the way they are. Agent Booth and I have an understanding." He smiles and dips to pick up his bag.

We all walk back to the Jeffersonian and see each other safely to our cars. As I park in my spot at home, I feel another little upsurge of energy. _Trust me. _What is Booth planning?

I unlock the door and think I can perceive briefly, before it dissipates, Booth's unique scent. Masculine and spicy and the leather of his jacket. I lock the door behind me and drop my keys on the table by the door. I always leave this little hall light on for when I return home, but I can see illumination on the far side of the living room as well. Walking into the familiar room, I can't see anything out of place, no notes on the table or counter, no blinking light on my answering machine. I cross to the wall sconce Booth has turned on near the bookshelf. Hanging from it is a garment bag. _Booth bought me clothes?_ I reach up and with no little trepidation, unzip it from the top down. My breath stops for a minute when I see the black dress. _Just like it? The same one? Surely not_. _We returned it to the clothing rental company. _But when I let the garment bag drop to the ground and I examine the dress in the light I can see that it _is_the same dress-just inside the zipper I can make out the long thread that I pulled through to the inside when I caught it on something in the hotel room. Roxie's dress. What does this mean?

Attached to the zipper by a safety pin, a note in Booth's bold handwriting: "Pick you up at 6:30, Doll. Tony."

The heaviness that had settled on me at the thought of having to go out in public tonight, tonight of all nights, and be _me_, lifts. Evaporates. Or rather, sublimates: the cold weight of being me-daughter, famous author, brilliant scientist, exacting boss, prickly FBI consultant-shifts directly to its gaseous state, dissipates and scatters in the thin rarified air of my apartment. I fill my lungs with that air, let my head tip back, and I breathe out and out and out. And then laugh, a breathy trill of sound from my belly. Giddy with anticipation. _Trust me._

Oh this is going to be _fun_.

**A/N: What do you think? Want to read more?**


	2. Chapter 2 - How They Met

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones and am pleased to give all due credit to the writers who wrote Judas on a Pole just after which this story is imagined to have taken place.

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**A/N:** Thank you to dharmamonkey for her last minute beta work, the quote from Henry V, and for being the reason S.P.Q.R. made it into the story.

Thank you to DWBBfan who inspired the story through a twitter post-ep conversation when she remarked that Brennan really did love to go undercover and wouldn't someone write a story about that. Here it is. Hope you like it. Another person involved in this post ep convo was Jazzyproz who helped with the motorcycle vocab in this story. Thanks.

Thank you to everyone who reads and everyone who reviews this story, or my other stories. Doing this has been wildly entertaining, educational, and humbling. Thanks.

Happy Two days after the New England Blizzard of 2013,

Michele  
2/10/13

* * *

"O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend  
The brightest heaven of invention,  
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act  
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!

Beginning of Prologue in Shakespeare's Henry V

* * *

Booth felt nervous all of a sudden. _What if she didn't want to do this with him? What if she thought it was stupid? Damn it, why did he do this? _Someone slipping past him to go into Bones' building brought him back to himself, standing on the sidewalk outside in indecision. Booth shrugged. Even if she didn't want to dress up, to be Roxie, they would still have a good time. Giving her a good time was something her partner should do for her, right?

At her door minutes later, blowing air out silently one last time, Booth leaned his left hand against the door frame, bent his head, and knocked. Listened. Knocked again, hoping for a sign. And, as if on cue, it came.

"Coming, coming. Hold your horses already, Tony!" The door sprung inward and Bones...Roxie...stood there, in the black dress, _the_ black dress, smiling saucily at him with her shiny red lips.

"Hiya, Tony." Brennan leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, a swirl of expensive perfume, hair spray, and Bones wrapping around him like a lasso. Her scent slowed time and for the five seconds until it dissipated, Booth lived each of those seconds as if a whole minute, feeling the downy hair on her warm cheek against his cool, smoothly shaved one, getting a close look at the delicate shell of her ear, the dusting of freckles not quite concealed under powder, the electric blue of her eyes fixed on his as she drew away. And then the long, brilliant moment was over and Bones brought one painted red nail to press lightly upward on his jaw, "Close your mouth, baby. Something could fly in."

Booth shook himself and got in character. "I know, Rox, but man...you look good enough to eat." He grinned, wide and truthful, and, leaned back theatrically and for once, let his eyes openly roam, checking out his girlfriend...partner's...body from her toeless black pumps to her curled chestnut hair. She was gorgeous, just as gorgeous as he remembered, and if his eyes lingered a little longer on the curves of her breasts than on the rest of her, who was going to complain?

She twirled for him, showing off her dress with a laugh, and then sashayed back into the apartment.

"Let me get my coat, Tony, and we can go. Where ya taking me, anyway?" Brennan grabbed a red silk wrap off one of the hooks by the door and slipped out into the hall past him. Once she had closed and locked the door behind her, he put his hand where he always put it: in the sweet spot in the small of her back. He was careful not to let it slip lower than usual; they might, after all, meet someone she knew in the elevator. Anyone seeing them-his fedora, suspenders, and observable jewelry and her skin tight dress, high heels, and overdone hair and makeup-might wonder if they were going to a fancy costume party, but he didn't want to raise any more questions than he had to. Booth was also mindful that he didn't want to send any mixed signals to her tonight. They left the building unobserved, exiting from the basement instead of the manned front door.

Booth hailed a cab when they reached the street, and gave the cabbie the address of the restaurant. Booth sat back and turned toward Bones.

"Booth?" she said clearly in her normal voice.

He answered in kind. "Yeah, Bones?" He smiled at her, trying to let her know, with his eyes, with his mouth, that this was for fun, that he thought she would have fun, doing this. She didn't look nervous, or conflicted, but she didn't answer for a long minute. When she did, he could tell she was searching for the words for what she wanted to say.

"You...bought the dress." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." He confessed.

"Why?" She asked, forthright as always.

"It's...It's a _great_ dress, Bones." He smiled and looked up at her from under his brows. But she was watching him, her eyes hard to read in the darkness of the cab. "I dunno, just a whim really." He kept smiling, kept his voice casual, his body relaxed. "That dress looked great on you, and I was...pumped, I guess, from playing Tony and Roxie. So...when I went to return all the clothes, I just bought the dress. I figured I'd give it to you sometime, maybe we'd go to a Halloween party or something."

She made another statement. "Tony and Roxie are dating."

Trust Bones to just get it all out there. "Yeah, I guess they are."

"But we aren't." Again, a statement. He thinks it was a statement. I mean, it was a statement, and it is true. Also, she knows about Cam. But he and Cam aren't actually dating in the usual sense, but Bones probably doesn't know that. But still...she doesn't say anything else.

"No." He says finally. "No, we aren't. We'll just pretend, tonight. Like we did before, unless—"

She interrupted. "So Tony and Roxie are dating. They are probably very physical and you are usually very puritanical in your attitudes—"

"Hey! I am not puritanical, Bones, I am private—"

"Booth, I don't want to argue about this, I just want to suggest that hugging and holding hands and kissing on the cheek would seem in keeping with Roxie and Tony's relationship. But that anything beyond that would probably be inappropriate given our professional relationship and friendship."

Booth, still stung and feeling like she had called him a prude, agreed sullenly. "Fine."

"Fine." An uncomfortable silence rose up around them.

Her voice, tentative, broke it first. "Unless..." He could feel her eyes fixed on his in cab..."unless you don't want to."

"No, I want to. Do you want to? We could just go out, you know. As...us-"

"No, no...that's not what I...I mean, it's fine Booth. It'll be fun. I just wanted to make sure that I understood the boundaries of the invitation." He could see the outline of her body getting tenser, sharper, more Bones-like, less Roxie-like, and reached one arm around her and pulled her into a quick hug.

"C'mon, doll, lighten up. We make a great team." As she leaned into him, softening a little, he pressed a quick kiss to her temple. "Tony and Roxie take D.C., right?"

"Sure, Tony." Her voice sexier, confident again. She pushed back from him and he could feel the warmth of her hand pressed to his chest. "So, where are you takin' me? Somewhere classy, I hope."

Booth grinned at her. "Only the best for my girl, Rox. You'll see." Brennan relaxed back against the seat, pressed warm up against his side, letting his arm rest across her shoulders but otherwise not touching her. They passed the remaining time in the car in a more comfortable silence since it seemed that neither was sure how far the other wanted to take this.

They pulled up in front of the address that Booth had given the driver and Brennan exited the taxi first, looking with interest at an unfamiliar block, and an unfamiliar restaurant, while Booth paid. Famous author that she was, Booth thought a little more smugly than was strictly gentlemanly, she probably thought she knew all the best restaurants. Well this one was new and had a small mention in today's edition of the Washington Post. "SPQR" proclaimed the prominent black on white banner above the door. Brennan looked at him and grinned him as Roxie, "Italian, Tony? My favorite..."

"Only the best, Rox. Shall we?" Booth held out his arm.

Brennan hooked her left hand over his elbow and answered, allowing him to lead her down the few steps to the garden level restaurant, "We shall."

They were greeted at the door by a man in a green suit that covered a shiny fuschia shirt worn with a shiny turquoise tie. He looked young and some sort of partial Asian descent. Not the black-suited Italian maitre d' Booth was expecting. "Welcome to SPQR. Do you have a reservation?"

Booth answered in his New Jersey accent, "Yeah. I called earlier. Tony Brescia."

"Hi," Brennan said cheerfully, holding out her hand and shaking the man's hand. "I'm Roxie." She grinned at Tony.

The young man smiled back, shook her hand, and consulted a list. "Right this way." He turned and they followed him into the restaurant. Again, Booth's expectations were foiled. The interior was carefully lit, but not dim. Each table, in fact, seemed a little oasis of light in the twilight of the surprisingly spacious restaurant. Bright modern art hung on the walls and what sounded like Italian pop music played in the background. Waiters and waitresses eclectically dressed in fancy clothing flitted around taking orders and bringing food.

"I like it already, Tony!" Bones said with real animation. "Ooooh, look at the cute little bouquets of flowers on every table!"

When they reached the table, Booth stood behind her to take her wrap. She leaned forward and gave him a smile and a warm peck on the cheek, "Thanks, Babe."

Flush with surprise and the realization that she was all in, Booth shot her a cocky grin and a wink as he sat down. "Sure thing, Roxie. I like taking your clothes off you."

Brennan almost shouted in her surprised laughter and the man and woman approaching the table smiled at the sound.

"Mr. Brescia? I am Silvio Bressani, the owner, and this is my grandmother, Amalia." Silvio was dressed in a similar style to his host, blue suit, yellow shirt, orange tie, the top of a tattoo showing at the neck. His dark skin and hair made his ancestry believable but otherwise, with his slender build and chunky black glasses, he could have been any twentysomething DC up-and-comer. Amalia was tall and graceful, dark hair pulled back, although casually dressed in gray slacks and a white blouse.

"Nice to meet you. Tony Brescia. My girl Roxie." Booth and Brennan stood, shook hands with them both.

"Please sit. I usually come around and meet our guests. My grandmother, since she came a month ago, is usually hidden away in the kitchen," he smiled sweetly at her, "When she heard your name, though, she wanted to come say hello. But she is only here for a few months and doesn't speak any English."

Booth must have looked confused. "Bressani is another form of Brescia, if you didn't know. Chances are our relatives are from Lombardy, maybe even the city of Brescia." Amalia Bressani spoke to her grandson in a rush of Italian syllables.

Silvio translated. "She wonders if you know where your relatives are from or if you have ever been to Italy yourself.

Booth clearly at a loss, looked at Bones, who smiled and said, "Tony and me, our relatives came to Jersey so long ago that we don't know much. I'm sorry. But I did visit Lombardy once, with a friend from Jersey who was visiting her Gran. We visited Brescia." At the mention of Lombardy, and Brescia, Amalia smiled at Brennan and seemed to listen harder.

"You did?" Booth said, surprised, forgetting for a minute that Bones had been everywhere as far as he could tell.

"Yeah, Tony. It was before I met you, but it was nice there. We visited a church...Santa Guilia? And the capitoleum of ancient Rome too." She smiled at him and waved a hand. "The food was to die for. We had something...Pizzocheri?" Brennan looked to Amalia and Silvio for confirmation. Amalia grinned from ear to ear and said something to Silvio and rushed off.

Silvio looked bemused. "I hope you liked it, because I think you just ordered it."

Brennan smiled and nodded. "That's great. I've never seen them on the menu anywhere."

Silvio smiled again and said, "I'll let you look at the menu, decide what else you want and then come back in a few minutes for your order, okay?" Booth and Brennan ordered wine and an appetizer, Sausage Risotto for Booth.

Finally alone, Booth raised his glass between them. Brennan gamely clinked her glass to his and said, "What are we toasting, Tony?"

"To a night out with my girl, Roxie." Brennan touched her glass to his and drank, then shifted her glass to her left hand, holding out her right across the table. Booth did the same and they were holding hands, Brennan letting her thumb rub across his knuckles before flipping it over and peering at his palm. "Hey, Tony, you ever have your palm read?"

"What a load of baloney, Rox." Brennan laughed and flipped his hand back over. Booth wasn't sure what they were going to talk about for the rest of dinner and he was suddenly nervous. He wasn't sure he could make up a whole history for them on the spot. Once again, though, Brennan surprised him.

"Want to play a game, Tony?"

"What kind of game?"

"You say a name of someone famous then I'll say the name of someone famous. My person's first name has to start with the same letter as your person's last name. Okay?'

"Okay. You go first."

"Okay. Brian Greene."

"Who's that?"

"Physicist." Booth raised his eyebrows at her and she laughed, again a carefree burst of sound that Booth had heard all too rarely from her. Maybe this night really was going to be good for her.

"Fine," he said, "but I get to challenge you if I think you are making something up." Her eyes lit up. Both Roxie and Brennan liked a challenge.

"All right, but if you challenge and you're wrong that's got to count against you."

"And you too! How bout we each get three challenges? Getting caught in a lie is worth 1 point. Telling the truth and having someone accuse you of lying is worth 1 point. First person to 10 points wins."

Brennan's eyes were shining and she laughed again. "Deal. Brian Greene."

"The physicist, you mean?" Brennan laughed again. Booth smirked. "Okay. Geoff Sanderson."

"Who's that?"

"Number 8—plays Left Wing for the Flyers this year." Brennan looked into his eyes, trying to decide if he is lying.

"Sandra Day O'Connor"

"I know who she is." Booth smiled triumphantly. "Oscar Wilde."

And now Brennan smiled pleased with his choice. "Oh, I like him. He's very funny."

Booth confessed, pleased himself when he realizes they are still holding hands across the table. "I've never read him."

"You know, he said 'Illusion is the first of all pleasures'. I think he would have liked this evening." This time, Brennan's smile was all hers, crooked and a little sly. After a little pause, she said, "William Conrad Rontgen."

Booth thought for minute. "Challenge."

"Hah!" she laughed. "You lose. He's real! He was awarded the first Nobel Prize in 1901 for discovering x-rays."

"How do I know you are telling the truth now?" Brennan seemed to consider this seriously.

"Well, it is not feasible to look them all up here, in these circumstances, so we will just have to promise to tell the truth." Booth acquiesced. Her lightness of mood, even though she had slipped back into Brennan-speak, was good to see.

"Okay. So you have a point. Ryan Madison."

"You gave in very easily. I think you are trying to slip one past me by making one up right away. Challenge."

"Nope. Sorry. Number 63. Pitcher for the Phillies." Brennan's lips compressed in a frustrated line. Damn, she was cute when she was mad.

Just then the food arrived and Brennan said in a cheerful whine, "Tony, you can't always say baseball players and hockey players and basketball players. There's too many."

"That's just the way the cookie crumbles, baby. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen." Booth smiled up at Silvio. "This is some service we're getting, Roxie. The owner himself waiting on us."

Brennan smiled up at Silvio and reached out and squeezed his arm, secure in Roxie's natural physicality, "I love your restaurant, Silvio. I think it's the prettiest restaurant I've ever been in!"

The strong line of her jaw, the bold curve of her expressive mouth, the intensity of her gaze, her obvious delight in the evening, all combined to make it impossible to look away from her. Silvio looked a little dazed to be the focus of her attention, and Booth couldn't blame him. Booth saw her almost every day and each of these things, in parts. Her intensity and curiosity, he saw often, but hemmed in by the serious nature of her work, whether a case they were working together or her own consideration of more ancient remains. Booth thought that playing Roxie was less about donning someone else's clothes, someone else's likes and dislikes, and more like letting loose her own hidden desires and preferences. He wondered if maybe he was seeing a different side of her, not just a character she had made up.

They ate and laughed, continuing to play the game. Bones was usually not a very good liar; he could always tell when she was lying to him, and almost always when she was lying to other people. But because she was playing Roxie, it was harder for Booth to tell if she was conning him. She managed to slip several fake scientists by him. _How the hell would he know one scientist from another?_ _He could barely tell the squints apart._ She, on the other hand, seemed to assume that he was trying to trick her all the time, so he earned almost all his points by letting her challenge him falsely. In fact, he didn't make up a damn thing just let her think he was lying every once in awhile. In the end, she won, crowing and calling Silvio over to order a glass of celebratory champagne.

Maybe she would have won anyway, but when it came down to it, he just didn't care all that much. Laughing with her, sharing the bottle of wine, letting her feed him bites of her food, listening to her slide in and out of Roxie-speak was just so damn fun. It was the most fun he remembered having with a woman, outside of sex, in a long time. He thought fleetingly of Cam several times, feeling a little guilty, but he and Cam were almost entirely about sex. Beyond that, they were old friends. Booth didn't feel seriously about their relationship, although again, he felt the prick of anxiety that his ignorance of Cam's own feelings might lead him to hurt her.

Despite her complaints, he didn't let her order dessert, so as he settled the bill with Silvio, Bones asked if she could go thank Silvio's grandmother in the kitchen. Bones had always gone just where she wanted, and so had Roxie, he figured, so even as Silvio offered to take her, she strode away on her own to seek the older woman out. When Bones returned a few minutes later, her arm was linked in Amalia's and both women were smiling and laughing about something. Booth wasn't certain but he could swear they were speaking Italian.

Booth rose and suffered a hug from Silvio's grandmother himself. Silvio ducked behind the bar and returned with one of the tiny bouquets wrapped in a little ribbon. Presenting it to Bones, he said that he hoped they would both come back again before his grandmother had to return home. Brennan kissed his cheek and then allowed Booth to settle her wrap around her shoulders, pressing back into him so that it was the most natural thing in the world to wrap his arm around her and hold her close against his side.

Again, Booth was struck by how easy it was to be with her like this, not at all like playing a part. What was unusual was how close she was allowing him to get to her, and how often she was getting close to him. He would recognize her unique scent anywhere but tonight he felt wrapped in it.

As they stood on the street outside of the restaurant, considering the best direction to walk to get a taxi, Roxie leaned into him again, her arm slipping around his waist. "Tony, you picked a great place to have dinner."

He let himself reach out and stroke her face with the fingers of one hand, "I'm glad you liked it, Babe." His breath caught in his throat as she leaned in closer, and spoke into his ear.

"I told Amalia." He pulled back enough to see her eyes, surprised. She laughed a little. "I forgot and started speaking in Italian to her. So I told her we were pretending to not be ourselves tonight, for fun. She was very amused." As if she suddenly realized how close their faces were, she pulled away from him quickly and stumbled a little as she said, "Where are you taking me next, Tony?"

He reached out to steady her and reeled her back in against his side. To hell with tomorrow. Tonight they were Roxie and Tony. "You'll see, doll." Bones smiled at him, relieved, and leaned against him long enough to take his hand. He twined his fingers through hers and they walked a few blocks before finding a cab.

B&B

* * *

Sometimes when people talk, I just hear noise. I don't know why. But I know this didn't start when my parents left. It was a part of me long before that. Russ and my teachers often complained that I wasn't listening or that I had stopped listening. My parents were better, understood me better, and one of the things I remember most about my mother was her hands, the way they felt, because they were often touching me. A touch on the shoulder or hand or my face, could bring my focus to her or to the world around me, one which was often changed since the last time I observed it.

Being undercover with Booth, playing Roxie to his Tony tonight, obviated the need for all the personal strategies I had put in place to adjust for this. It took me until we were conversing at SPQR (I even love the name, how clever of Silvio) to realize why I felt so liberated. The new, constructed, reality has its own rules and it takes focus and attention to stay within the bounds of the structure. Like a musician playing jazz. I am to pay attention to everything Booth says and does, and he will be paying equally close attention to me. I am to pay attention and react to stimuli in my environment only in the context of what Roxie would respond to, although I can respond as me as long as it doesn't violate the illusion. I don't have to pay any attention at all to anyone else. What a relief.

This night for me was like a play, each scene carefully chosen to tell the whole story. I have little memory of the cab ride to the zoo, or any of the other people there. I don't know where we drove, what places we passed, or what the other vehicles on the road looked like. And yet, my memory of Booth seems unbroken. One continuous reel of sight and sound, touch and smell. The pressure of his hand at my back. The sinewy strength of his torso as I lean against him. The scent of his aftershave and the smell of his leather jacket under my cheek. The way he laughs low and sexy as Tony, in response to something suggestive Roxie said. There is often a hint of gratifying surprise, however, in these laughs. Gratifying because I have surprised him by being so bold and he is pleased that I am and I am pleased that he is pleased. We're pleased.

If tonight is a play then the first scene would have been the texts and me finding the dress at my apartment. Prologue: The Set Up. Next...

Act 1: Roxie and Tony Eat Dinner at an Italian Restaurant.

Both extremely entertaining but the audience has not yet been drawn entirely into the world created by the playwright. That, _that_, happens in Act 2: Roxie and Tony go to the Zoo, Eat Dessert, and Take a Ride

* * *

I look into Booth's face, alternately in shadow or light depending on where we are on the makeshift dance floor. I hate zoos—hate the way the animals are locked up—but a late night event to view the nocturnal animals in our own zoo, the National Zoo, with its origins as a preserve for endangered native American species and its mission of wildlife education, is a little different. In addition, it turns out that Roxie loves zoos. A fact she is not shy of sharing. I feel bubbles of laughter rising from my belly at how fun it is to be her, to be Roxie, and myself at the same time. The warm tide of wine and champagne seems only to bring things in sharper focus. The tickets must have covered the entire cost of the event because clever tuxedo clad waiters and waitresses keep coming to bring me champagne off their little trays.

"Tony," I say, my voice low and husky from the long day, the alcohol, and the almost continuous talking and laughing during dinner, as well as during the lovely tour of the living creatures who populate the nighttime zoo.

His hand brushes my hair off my shoulder, a lovely sweep of sensation on my bare shoulder. It is cool but he is warm and I like the night air on my naked skin too much to wear my wrap.

"Yeah, Rox?"

His dark eyes glitter as he resettles his hand at my side. "Nothing, Honey." His face breaks into a cocky grin and he pulls me into a spin, into the dance so that my chin rests on his shoulder and his hands slide around my waist in something like an embrace.

* * *

Later we sweep through the exit, Roxie's high heels and the smart soles of Tony's shiny black shoes clicking dauntlessly on the concrete of the walkway.

"Toneeee," I say. "You promised me dessert. I'm hungry." And starting to feel the affects of a night of drinking.

"Now _you_ hold _your_ horses, Rox, we're almost there."

"Almost where?" I thought we were walking to get a cab but I can see now that Booth is leading us through the park toward Connecticut Ave and Woodley Park shops and restaurants. Before we get to some upscale coffee shop or trendy late night dessert bar, however, Booth veers off toward the upper corner of the small park. There, on the corner, is a street cart selling fried dough.

I get mine with butter and powdered sugar and he orders cinnamon sugar.

"Gimme a bite of yours, Rox," he says, mouth still full of his own. I consider the piece I have left. I have, as usual, eaten my dessert in such a way that the very best bite will be left at the end and is currently jutting out from the remaining crust, heavy with butter and clotted powdered sugar.

"Open wide, Tony." I instruct, and he opens his mouth, leaning toward me a little. I feed him the best part of my bread and he smiles and kisses me on the cheek sweetly. First of the night.

* * *

As we finish our dessert, a motorcycle pulls up at the curb. A man in a backpack parks the bike and crosses to where we stand. He pulls off his helmet and as he does so, Booth steps forward to shake his hand and take the keys to the bike. Neither man speaks but the stranger unzips the backpack and pulls out two leather jackets. Booth takes off his jacket, folding it in half carefully, and turns toward me, hand outstretched for my wrap. The man takes both from him and packs them away. Turning me gently, Booth holds one of the jackets for me to don, and then puts on his own. When I turn back, the stranger smiles at me and holds out a soft red cashmere scarf which I take. This, obviously, was not to plan and for the first time tonight, Booth is clearly _Booth,_ and not Tony. Booth steps forward and to the right to position himself between me and the man, standing slightly in profile, and gives him a hard stare I am all too familiar with: eyes cold, lips pursed, jaw jutting forward a little. The man smiles in response—a tight, controlled movement that is not...quite...challenging, but brave nonetheless, given Booth's body language. After a long pause, the man takes a step back, nods to Booth, salutes me casually with two fingers, and walks away.

I zip my coat and wrap the scarf around my neck. The silent exchange, the drink, the food maybe—all collapse in on this moment, limned in colored lights from the restaurants and street lights and offset by the matte black negative shapes they create. I am suddenly wrapped in silence myself and willingly allow Booth to take my hand as we walk to the motorcycle. He hands me a helmet and I strap it on while he does the same. He hooks the backpack in place and then straddles the bike to start it. I take a minute to look at him, the strong appealing bulk of him straddling the powerful machine, his eyes looking out at me through the visor slot, his hand outstretched. It seems that I just blink once and somehow I am on the back of that bike with Booth, short skirt made even shorter as it rides up high on my thighs where they grip his lean hips.

I slide my arms around him and squeeze and we are flying away, weaving through traffic, slowly at first, but faster as Booth gets onto the highway, and faster still when, a long time later, he gets off the highway and eventually finds a lonely stretch of road shooting straight for miles through industrial plants on the outskirts of the city. He slows the bike and at one end of the industrial row, drops the stand and turns off the engine. He pulls off his helmet. I do the same.

He turns his head, hard so that he can catch my eye and I lean to my left, my hands still on his hips, so that he doesn't have to crane his neck so far. I can hear Booth's breathing, heavy from the effort of driving. It is very quiet here in this lonely place, the sounds of distant traffic muted.

"Well, Bones?" he says, a half smile on his lips and in his eyes.

"Well what Booth?" I can't help but respond to his boldness with my own.

"You having fun?" I don't know how to answer. I don't have the words. I lean forward and snake my arms around him once again and squeeze, press my cheek against his back, my face, my lips, a little like a kiss. I feel his cold hand press on mine where it rests on his warm stomach. Reassuring, affirming.

When I pull back to look at him again, he says, "Wanna go fast, Roxie?'

"Hell yeah, Tony." I answer, and put my helmet back on.

* * *

And now we are right back where we started, in the back of a taxi. And it is still dark in the back of the car, this time the true dark of deepest night. I wonder how it is going to end. It has been a wonderful night and suddenly I am sure I will ruin it, say the wrong thing when I am no longer Roxie. Better now...

"Tony, d'you remember the night we met?" Booth has handled everything that came before with aplomb; I wonder what he will say.

His voice is low and husky, like he is actually remembering. "At your cousin Joe's wedding? I had come with my brother, as a friend of the family."

"Yes." The word slips out and hangs between us. "You were such a gentleman..."

"I was fucking terrified."

"What?"

"You were so out of my league, Rox. You _are_ so out of my league—no don't stop me. Shhh." Booth places a single finger on my lips, just for a moment, and then removes it. "You were the hottest woman there. All the guys at my table wanted to ask you to dance, were talking about how to ask you, how to meet you, but before the dancing had really even started, you came to us. And asked _me_ to dance. Christ, Roxie. I didn't know what to think. You were so hot. But you are smart too, and classy. I didn't want to mess it up."

"Did you want to kiss me goodnight, Tony?"

"You know I did, Rox." Booth's voice was almost a whisper.

"Well, I did too, but I didn't wanna mess it up either, so at the end of the night, when you kissed me on the cheek—" I pause, and Booth leans in and kisses me on the cheek. Suddenly, he's my partner again, and he smells like every guy hug we've ever had, every time all the times he has leaned in too close to me as I examine a body, or evidence, or a crime scene. "—and I...I...I just hugged you. Kind of a dumb way to end a beautiful night, Tony, but I liked it." By now, Booth has leaned back and this time I go to him, reaching out and hugging him. Other than his hand on my back, it is the only truly familiar physical contact between us and it feels good. Like it always feels good: Booth's strength and warmth and ridiculously unreserved and incautious caring. I stay in his arms a little too long, but he doesn't say anything, just hugs me until the cab comes to a stop at my apartment building.

I pull away and catch the bright gleam of his dark eyes with my own.

"Thank you for tonight." Roxie or me?

"You're welcome." Tony or Booth?

I open the door and push myself out into the cool night air. The doorman opens the door to my building. I look back once and Booth raises one hand goodbye. I smile and turn and walk away.


	3. Chapter 3 - How they Decided

In the two years before things changed, they went out as Tony and Roxie only 7 more times.

If they had taken the time to analyze the phenomenon (and both of them had _different_ _but equally strong _reasons for not engaging in such analysis) they would have seen a pattern in the timing of their outings. A triggering event. A desire for comfort. A desire _to_ comfort. A need for release. A reason to touch each other.

After that first evening, the parameters were set. Booth only went out with Cam a short while longer, but the fact that he had been dating her then set the tone for their next nights out. As Brennan said, "hugging and holding hands and kissing on the cheek would seem in keeping with Roxie and Tony's relationship. But anything beyond that would probably be inappropriate given our professional relationship and friendship." This meant that on nights when they went out, they never went beyond chaste kisses on the lips or cheeks.

That's one way to look at it. Another way to look at it is that, having drawn the line at closed-mouth kissing, they felt free to indulge in everything else on the right side of the line as often as possible.

They developed ways of telling each other that they wanted to go out as Tony and Roxie, and ways of saying what they wanted to do. The new ease with which they touched casually grew naturally out of their evolving partnership but these rare evenings of physical closeness contributed.

Going out as Tony and Roxie was, perhaps, an unusual outlet or forum within which to deepen a professional and personal relationship. But both of them were unusual people. It was hardly surprising they would find an unusual outlet to release the pressure built up by their work and their dedication to it and to each other.

Seven times after Max drove away, Booth and Brennan became Tony and Roxie. At another time in his life, Booth would have called that lucky.

B&B

* * *

_"I've been tortured worse."_  
_"Next time he shows up...what is my obligation?"_  
_"If I were you Bones, I'd want to know what he has to tell me about my mother but that's...well, that's just me."_  
_"There's this old song. It's called 'Keep on Trying'"_

Booth's tooth didn't hurt anymore, obviously, but it was pretty clear to her that everything else did. He winced every time he moved. And not just his legs, which had been burned with a soldering iron. Weeks passed and his wounds healed but Brennan found that she continued to be anxious about his health, about how he was feeling. He put her off but she saw him downing Advil like they were candy. That first night, after their meal at the diner, when the pain must have been reaching even his pain tolerance level, she took him home-it was a measure of how hurt he was that he didn't object to or complain about her driving-and convinced him to take the Vicodin that the doctor had prescribed for him. He called her in the night incoherent with rage, cursing in English, in Arabic, even a little in French. Clearly he was reliving some other torture. Without warning, his tirade ended and the sudden silence was as alarming as his rage had been. She called his name, but didn't get an answer. Careful listening confirmed that he was asleep, snoring lightly, the line still open. Concerned, she drove over and let herself into his apartment, creeping into his room to check that he was all right.

She didn't give in to the urge to sit by his bed or worse, to crawl into bed next to him, but set herself up on the couch in the living room. That would do well enough for her. After all, they were partners; partners looked after each other. Twice, his snores turned to moans and shouting, but both times her touch had an immediate palliative affect. She put her cool hand on his forehead to check for fever that might signal his wounds were infected. She pressed her fingers to his pulse points to check his heart rate. She held his hand, for no reason other than her own comfort. His hand in hers was so beautiful. Long, strong fingers, calloused and scarred. His palms, softer and almost sweet compared to the tendons and veins on top.

Once while she had stroked his palm, he opened his bleary eyes warily, as if he expected pain. When he saw her he smiled, muttered "_Bones,_" closed his eyes and went back to sleep. For good this time. When he woke up in the morning, he didn't remember calling her. "Damn pills. I _hate_ those pills; they always do weird things." He thanked her for staying and then rushed her out the door, not even letting her talk him into breakfast.

Since then, he seemed to have confined his pharmaceutical remedies to ibuprophen and tylenol, but it was weeks before his stiff gait smoothed out into his usual graceful lope. Despite his physical recovery however, he still wasn't back to himself. Brennan didn't understand how to read these kinds of markers, the markers of anxiety or anguish, but she could tell he joked with her less, was more distant with everyone. One Friday night after six o'clock, several weeks after Cement Head was found in Baltimore, he dropped the last of the paperwork for her signature on her desk and, after bringing her up to date on a couple other matters, he said goodnight, gave her a casual salute, turned, and walked away smoothly, if not exactly jauntily.

He was halfway down the walkway when she called out to him from outside the door of her office.

"Hey, Tony..." He came to a complete halt. His head came up from where it had been contemplating the floor. She saw it. But he didn't turn around. He waited.

"Hey, Tony, what's a girl gotta do to get a date around here?"

His body in the dark suit that hung even more loosely on his frame of late was even tauter than usual. And then, he turned his head, just his head, and she caught a glimpse of his face in profile. The jut of his jaw, the dark glint of his eye, and then the silken curve of his lip. "Where do you wanna, go, Rox?"

"I have some ideas, Tony." She allowed the nasal in her voice to turn husky. "Trust me, you'll like where I'm taking you."

He turned just enough farther that he could catch her eye, his smile even wider. "You got it, Babe. Pick you up at 8?" His voice was husky too, full of a Jersey twang but it was still Booth's voice. It still made her a little weak in the knees and she shot back at him: "See you later, Doll."

She ducked back into her office, pleased with her success, a little bit nervous that they could have been overheard. She shrugged. Let 'em wonder, she had a date to plan.

B&B

* * *

That night, she took him to a Monster Truck Rally at the Verizon Center. Through her publisher, she probably could have acquired whatever kind of premiere seating was available at such an event but she decided that Roxie and Tony would not have the means for such tickets. In addition, they probably liked being in the thick of the action. The look on Booth's face when they got off the Metro at the Gallery Place-Chinatown stop was priceless. His stunned "_Really?_" was all Booth, totally out of character for Tony. She just leaned into his body farther and hugged him with her right arm, looped around his back like his was curled around hers.

The subway was crowded and they'd had to stand. Rather than have her struggle to keep her footing by hanging onto a pole, Booth held himself steady with one hand and pulled her into his body tight, to anchor her. Brennan was surprised but the cocky smile on his face was pure Tony, so she let her Roxie accept his boldness. Her hands and arms were trapped between their bodies and she slid her palms up his chest until they were pressed against the warm strength of his pectoral muscles. He was wearing a white t-shirt and a leather jacket with jeans and a substantial western belt buckle with what appeared to be an eagle on it. She could feel it pressing into her belly even through her jacket.

Brennan had been acquiring clothing for Roxie for a while now. She thought it would be hard to explain to Angela why she wanted to deviate from her normal styles, but apparently, Angela believed it was only a matter of time before Brennan wanted cuter clothes and didn't seem suspicious at all. Also, Brennan didn't buy them all at once, just allowed Angela to win one or two more items on every shopping trip. So it was that tonight she was wearing a skin tight black zipper dress jacket over her own low rise jeans and cropped pink baby doll tshirt. Her hair was up high in a loose ponytail with curling strands of hair left loose around her face. Her lipstick was a shade of bubblegum pink never before worn by Brennan and while she kept her eye make up reasonable, she did add some glitter shadow to her eyelids.

The lights flickered in the subway car as they took a turn at relatively high speed. Brennan swayed into Booth, but he didn't budge, just tickled her back with his fingers to make her laugh. So she did, tilting her head up to meet his eyes, full of laughter and fun. She curled her fingers into his chest, mock-threatening. Booth made a face, mouthed "oooh". And then they were at the right stop, and Tony was replaced with a boyish Booth, who hadn't dared hope they were heading to the Verizon Center.

The monster truck rally was incredibly fun. The events involved things like "popping wheelies" and the crowd screaming in dis(approbation) to select a winner. The trucks had special names like Northern Nightmare, Stone Crusher, Monster Mutt, and the Illuminator. There were races in which the trucks did "donuts" and got "big air". The best part though, was being with Booth, with Tony. Brennan stripped her jacket off right away and tucked it and Tony's leather jacket under their seats. During much of the competition, the fans were on their feet and she could hang onto Tony's arm, or feel his arm wrapped around her. At one point, Tony's eyes dropped to her chest where the word "Sweet" was spelled out in rhinestones. He leaned forward and said into her ear, "Nice shirt, Bones." For the night, he had pulled his St. Christopher's medal out of his shirt to rest on his chest and she reached up and fingered it now.

She had a sudden flashback of him in a hospital bed, all cut up and bruised from the bomb in her refrigerator. The broken ribs that he re-injured when he rescued her from Kenton. His x-rays. His _feet_. Her face must have shown the tenor of her thoughts and he leaned forward to kiss her temple, letting his hand slide up to rest at the back of her head. She let herself lean into him a minute, her face against the warm cotton of his shirt, the chain of his medal under her cheek. Brennan had the uncomfortable impression that that memory had been lurking under the surface of her mind since she and Max found Booth in that airplane hangar. She was disquieted and a little angry that she had not made the connection herself.

"C'mon, Babe. Let's take a walk." Booth reached under the seats and grabbed their jackets, took her hand and made a trail for her to follow. Once on the concrete staircase, he didn't let go and led her further up into the Verizon Center to the farthest food court, _the one with beer on tap, _he said. "There's a break, soon, wanna get a beer or something to eat before the crowds come looking for food, Rox?"

"Sure, Tony. Let's get something to eat." Her voice seemed flat and all the fun seemed to have drained out of her. Booth moved us a little closer to the wall, away from the people mostly, and tipped her chin up with his finger so she had to look at him.

"What's up, Bones?"

"Nothing, Booth. I'm fine."

"Oh, really, because only five minutes ago you were jumping around and having the time of your life and now you look like you lost your best friend."

"Well, that would be you now, wouldn't it." Brennan snapped before she could think better of it.

Booth leaned against the wall, palm flat next to my head. "Is that what this is all about? I'm _fine_, Bones. Nothing I haven't been through before. And _you_ are the one who found me. You should feel good about that." He added, in a disgruntled voice. "But not about giving your father the keys to your car. I was about to arrest him."

This surprised a laugh out of her, and Booth grinned and straightened, hooking an arm around her shoulders in what was becoming a very Tony-ish way. "C'mon now, Rox. Enough with the serious talk. Let's get a beer and watch the rest of the show. Monster Truck Rally, Baby! You really know how to treat a guy right, Roxie."

Brennan let go of her worry for the moment and let Roxie smile up at him. She let him buy her a beer and a Monster Truck Rally Babydoll Tshirt to go with her new pink one.

B&B

* * *

The night ends with another cab ride home. Another ride in the comfortable dark, still holding hands with the woman I am with. She is close enough that I can smell her purfume. There is enough light that I can see the curls that escaped her ponytail at the nape of her neck. I want to touch them, rub them between my fingers. But it is already too late for that. It is almost too late to be holding her hand, sitting this close. Before it really is too late, I lean forward and kiss her temple, let my lips drift down her cheek, whisper in her ear. "Thanks, Bones."

She breathes in sharply and pulls back a little to try to look in my eyes. But it is too dark, no moon tonight, and even though the streetlights pass regularly, they seem to throw shadows and not light into the taxi. She can't really see me and I can't really see her. I wait, our faces close enough together that I can smell her breath, beer and vanilla ice cream and _Bones_. I am breathing through my nose and it is taking effort to keep my breathing steady. Finally she whispers, "You're welcome, Booth." Like she's admitting something. And maybe she is, but I don't know what. So I just lean forward and kiss her on the forehead.

"Night, Rox." I say.

"Night, Tony." She says, and leans up to brush her warm lips against mine briefly. Quick. The quickest kiss I have ever gotten maybe. But still.

And just a minute later, we pull up in front of her apartment building. The doorman opens the door for her again; and she looks back once, again; and I wave back, again. And again I ride the short ride to my apartment feeling better than I have in a long while, the memory of that kiss staying with me until I fall asleep.

* * *

A/N: Thanks dharmamonkey for the belt buckle and my friend Sheryl for the name of the tiny t shirts we used to wear country line dancing. Babydoll! I could not think of that...


	4. Chapter 4 - Opportunity

A/N: Happy Daylight Savings, everyone! This one is different, a view of Roxie and Tony from an outsider's perspective. Thank you to everyone who is reading, and for the heads up that an author's note here would be helpful. I hope you like the chapter! I believe another chapter in The Role of the Peloponnesian war in Modern Dating is up next.

This story takes place after Soccer Mom in the Mini-Van.

* * *

I didn't even notice them when we first got to the park. We parked the pickups and my beat up van down one end of the parking lot where the least people were, and piled out. I am the youngest, even though I'm in college now. The youngest brother, the youngest cousin—I always end up with a lot of stuff to carry while Chris and Jemmy go on ahead to scope out a good open place in the park for the game. I was carrying the bats and old cushions from my Aunt Joannie's porch. She's Jemmy's mom and she's always lets him get away with murder, so when he wanted to take the cushions for our pickup baseball games, she certainly wasn't going to say no. Me and Mason were carrying most of the equipment and the cooler between us so by the time that we got to the place where the rest of the group had set up for the game, teams were already almost set.

"Will! You're on Jemmy's team. Mason, you're on Chris'" I always feel mixed about being on Jemmy's team. His team often wins but sometimes just because he's such an asshole and just won't let things go. He gets mad quick and hard and he likes to win. He's a sore fucking winner and a sore fucking loser Chris says. But my brother doesn't seem to mind one way or another so I try not to.

"Okay!" I call out and drop the stuff in a big pile where we can all unpack and set up. A sunny Saturday in September. At least a couple of Saturdays in the fall, most of the male cousins, brothers, a few girl cousins or sisters, sometimes a couple of the older guys—my Uncle Vic or my Uncle Dom usually, never my Dad—and assorted friends would show up for the game. In an couple of hours, other members of the family would show up with picnic or cookout food...my mom and aunts, some more of the girls, the Dads. Right now, it was just the boys. None of the girls who sometimes played. None of the men either, actually. I think there was something this morning they had to go to...a memorial service maybe. So just the younger set of the family—my brothers, my cousins and a few friends. Kind of light for a game but what the hell. We'd all play a couple of positions, come up to bat more than usual.

But it wasn't til I was setting up 2nd base and figuring out where the sun was going to be in our eyes that I saw the blanket at the edge of our field. Some people were nearby, which was fine but we usually let people know that there were going to be balls flying around.

Chris was over that way so I shouted to him and pointed to the blanket. He jogged off in that direction and disappeared into the woods at the edge of the field. I kinda forgot about him in the arguing over batting order _nothing was ever easy with Jemmy_ until he jogged up with two new people with him.

"Hey, Jemmy, I got another couple of players!" He put a hand on Jemmy's shoulder and shook him a little, friendly. Chris is the only one who can get away with it. My brother is not only the oldest of the cousins, he's the biggest. Not the tallest, Jemmy's got an inch or two on him, but the biggest, strongest. Also, the nicest. No one stays mad at Chris, not even Jemmy. So Chris bringing in a couple of new players at the last minute would be okay but if the rest of us tried it, we'd be toast. As it was, Jemmy eyed them suspiciously.

The guy eyed him right back. "We don't have to play if it's a problem-"

Jemmy cut him off, "Nah, no problem. But the teams are even. Okay to split you up?" The guy smiled and held out his arms as if to say _Go ahead. _He included the woman in his gesture and she stepped out from where she'd been half hidden behind his body.

Not that she was hiding, I'll say that. She was definitely not the hiding sort. First of all, she was gorgeous and didn't need to hide. Blue eyes, shiny dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, long long legs, and...and...well, she had a _fucking awesome_ body. But not just that, she clearly didn't take any crap. She wasn't smiling, although she was looking carefully at each of us, clearly very interested in the game and in us. When she caught my eye, I smiled. I couldn't help it, she was so beautiful. I realized then that she looked like a _teacher_. One of those hot teachers that never really exist; she had this serious _look_ that made me feel like she could see everything I was thinking. That made me blush because I was thinking about how great her tits looked in the tight white tshirt she was wearing and then I thought I shouldn't be thinking _tits_ and that made me more nervous. Her face looked a little confused suddenly, but she smiled a little as she nodded at me. And her pale eyes lit up slightly and I got even more nervous and looked away only to find the guy she was with looking at me. _Shit._ If she looked like a teacher, he looked like a cop. Like my Uncle Vic. Just..._something._ Old eyes, my Mom called it. _Scary eyes_ I call it. But he smiled at me too, and then that seemed all right.

Jemmy was introducing everyone, probably stalling for time to decide who he wanted on our team. I'm sure he was thinking we wanted the guy, and if we wanted to win then that was probably the best choice, but if we had _her_ on our team, we'd get to talk to her, maybe give her a high five.

"I don't know how to play baseball. I have watched some games though. And Booth has been teaching me to throw." The woman spoke to us all, and then added, as if to say, _it's only fair that you have all the facts_: "I have a very steep learning curve." I groaned inwardly, Jemmy was never going to pick her now.

The man—_Booth maybe?_—didn't look at her while she spoke and they weren't touching, but they were definitely _together_, right? I mean, they had to be together. He was tall and good looking too. Probably a little older than Chris, who is 32. He had muscles but was lean, like a runner. He'd be fast and looked like he knew how to play. Definitely the smarter choice. But there was something about her. Confident, you know? I think I would have picked her. But maybe that was my dick talking. I probably blushed again. I'm not great at guy talk like this. I usually keep my mouth shut.

So Jemmy was now talking all kinds of crap about how Chris had picked the two best players and we should get the guy to even things out and in that way of things, even though some of his players were nudging him and saying stuff in his ear, Chris shrugged and said he wouldn't mind having the girl on our team. Some of the guys groaned but you could see that my brother's friend Evan wasn't sorry, or my cousin Ryan either. Chris held out his hand to the woman, introducing himself, and she said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Roxie."

And _now_ the guy, I still didn't know his name, turned to look at her. She smiled at him like she had a secret. He paused a minute more but then turned back and held out his hand, shaking each of ours in turn. "Tony." He shook hands like my Uncle Vic too. Like he could break your hand but had decided not to and in fact he kind of liked you unless you got up to something in which case he _would_ break your hand so don't even think of it.

I was right. The guy was an excellent player. Our team was up first, _of course_, and he got base hits a couple of times and a hit that woulda been a homerun if my cousin Clay—small but fast—hadn't caught it, way out in left field. Roxie was in right field and never really had a chance to try to catch anything. We had thrown the ball around a little before the game started and she was pretty awkward catching. She had a strange way of throwing. I think maybe when she said she was learning that she meant _today_ because she had this look on her face like she was running through a list of instructions as she threw. But she didn't throw as bad as some girls, releasing at the right time every time, but it wasn't _natural_ somehow. But that didn't matter. Some of us were pretty good, including my cousins and brother, so they only scored two runs in their first at bat.

Their turn. Roxie was batting second. I guess Chris didn't want to put her up first, her being new and the only girl and all but also wanted a chance to recover from a strike out if she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. My cousin Logan got a hit that got him as far as 2nd. Roxie walked up to home plate and picked up the bat, looking at it like she was examining it. Tony rose from where he was crouched as catcher and showed her how to position her hands. He had her choke up a little and curved his body around hers, bending her and showing her how to swing. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jemmy start forward to complain from where he played first base. Tony didn't move his head from where it hovered closely over Roxie's cheek, but his eyes shifted to Jemmy's, bringing him up short. Tony murmured a few more instructions into Roxie's ear and then went back to his position on one knee.

I didn't expect much after that and sure enough, Roxie didn't get a run, but after missing two pitches, she got a piece of the third and the ball flew high above her head and behind where Tony caught it handily, grinning at her and waving his glove with the ball at her, teasing. She smiled and came over to stand with us. She didn't apologize or anything just took her place and watched everyone carefully. When she came up to bat again, my brother Justin was on third and Logan was on 2nd. She got a piece of both the first and second pitches but neither of them were caught. She adjusted her grip on the bat and then bent over for the next pitch. This time the contact the bat made with the ball was solid and she batted a hard flying ground ball that got her to 1st. With bases loaded, Chris' hit got Ryan and Justin home and their team was now ahead 3-2 and the first inning ended when Jemmy tagged Chris out when he tried to steal 2nd. Jemmy was pissed that we were behind but enjoying the fact that he had stopped Chris' steal.

Roxie was heading back out to the outfield when Tony ran up behind her and caught her up in a hug. Her feet were dangling off the ground. She said something in response to him, laughing while she hugged him back once but then pushed to get him to drop her. He reached out to ruffle her hair or something but she ducked and slipped past him so she could get in position.

I felt funny watching them so closely, but there was something about them...it was hard to look away.

The game continued, Roxie consistently hitting ground balls on her turn at bat. Her happy smiles at her hits had turned to scowls. Clearly, she wanted to hit the balls higher, harder, but couldn't quite see her way to doing it. She was also fascinated with stealing bases, and she was kind of driving her team crazy getting too far from base and then making it back only because she was fast. She was actually pretty good at the physical part of it...fast and strong, good coordination and sense of timing, but the psychology of it was bringing her down. It was so easy to tell when she was going to run; she telegraphed her moves before she made them. Even when she started trying harder to hide them, anyone could tell when she was pretending. It was funny, she was so determined. I think most of us were kind of rooting for her to be able to steal a base.

Bottom of the 8th and we ahead tied 8-8. I was playing 2nd base when Roxie tried to steal it. _Did_ steal it, I guess, because when it was all over—and everything happened really really fast in a flurry of crashing bodies and hands and gloves and grass—Roxie was half under me, hand stretched over her head triumphantly holding on to the cushion that was 2nd base, and I...I was half on top of her, my right hand gloved with the ball in it pressed to the ground a foot from the base and my left hand on her breast. It took a few seconds for the dust to settle but when it did, I yelled—honestly, it was more like a little girl screech—and scrambled to get away from her like she was hot to the touch. In a way she kind of was. I looked around wildly, sure her...Tony was going to come barreling over to me, angry. Instead, he jogged over to give me a hand up, calling over to her. "You okay, Rox?"

She was carefully turning herself over onto her knees, one on the ground one up in the air, trying to right herself without taking her hand off the base. Finally, triumphantly, she stood on the base, knee scraped and bleeding, hair half out of her ponytail, and laughed. "I did it!" I grinned at her, relieved that no one had kicked my ass, plus she was so happy. I glanced over at Jemmy and he was scowling so I wiped the smile off my face, dusted down and got back into position.

The game, which had been pretty relaxed up til then, got more serious. Jemmy was kind of pissed that she had gotten a steal and also, a few of my other cousins had shown up to watch. So bottom of the 9th, Chris'—_Roxie's_—team up, two outs already, we were ahead 9-8. Logan on first, Roxie batting. She was _really_ trying to get something other than a ground ball and twice hit balls foul. Everyone had moved in from the outfield because when she did get hits they were close and pretty fast. Third swing, another foul. Normally we played, friendly game like this, that you weren't out on your third foul ball. Jemmy called her "out" and a general outcry, even from his own team, had him backing down, scowling. Fourth pitch.

_Crack_. Shit, I didn't need to even look to know that one had some legs. It sailed, just as pretty as could be, over everyone's heads deep into the outfield. Roxie was all business though. Put her head down and ran, like it was the most important thing in the world. Tony at center field and Chris at left had both run for it and one of them threw it in. I was too busy watching her, and keeping an eye on Jemmy—who had been playing catcher ever since Tony had given her a lesson in hitting. His face had turned red and angry and his body was tense and hovering near home plate. Roxie didn't seem to know that he was mad though, just kept running. Logan tagged home and tried to get past Jemmy as quickly as possible, but he still got a good shove for his trouble. I moved in a little from where I was playing shortstop but it was going to be Jemmy's catch, Jemmy's out, if the ball made it to his glove in time.

It didn't. Roxie landed hard, foot square on the cushion, as Jemmy reached for the ball. She tagged the base a good several seconds ahead of the ball seating itself in the pocket of Jemmy's glove.

"Out!" Jemmy called.

"What?!" Roxie wheeled around even as her momentum carried her past him.

"You heard me, you are out!"

"That isn't true. I reached the base before you caught the ball." She moved closer to him as she spoke.

"I was there, I think I know whether I caught the ball in time or not!" He moved closer too. They were almost nose to nose now. She wasn't backing down at all.

"You are lying!"

"Are you calling me a liar?!" I could see the spit from here, but Roxie didn't flinch or wipe at her face or anything.

"No, I _called _you a liar. Now I am calling you a cheater."

I wasn't sure what to do. I mean, Jemmy wouldn't hit a girl, I didn't think, but he was _mad_. Tony and Chris pulled up next to me, having run in from the outfield.

"Sorry." I muttered. "Sometimes he's kind of an asshole. But he won't hurt her."

Tony laughed a little. "I just hope she doesn't hurt _him_." I looked at him to see if he was serious. He didn't seem worried, just interested to see what would happen. Chris looked surprised at this too but rolled his eyes at me, sharing his exasperation at the gigantic ass that was our cousin. He raised his voice and shouted over to Jemmy. "Jemmy, seriously, we could see she beat you to the bag from out there! Ask your own team." None of us really wanted to be asked, but fair was fair, and when Jemmy—eyes never leaving Roxie's, his big body not backing down from where it loomed over hers—shouted out of the side of his mouth, "What do you guys say?", a bunch of us told him that she was safe. She was also still, her body was in profile to where we stood. She was a sight: jaw set, white shirt dirty from the slide at Second, scrape on her calf, ponytail half down again.

Jemmy's voice growled, "That third foul shoulda been out."

"Your team didn't think so."

After another long minute trying to intimidate her, glaring down at her, Jemmy threw his glove down in the dirt. "Well, my team's a bunch of _assholes_." He stalked off toward the picnic area. In the distance, I could see other family members and my Mom setting out picnic supplies. Roxie walked over to where we stood. She didn't seem upset. Her eyes were bright and happy, although she wasn't smiling. Her eyes were fixed on Tony. She came to a stop in front of him, head tilted back at almost the exact angle that she had stared Jemmy down.

"I told you I could do it...Tony."

He reached out with one hand and took her fingers in his loosely.

"Yep. You did, Roxie. I guess I owe you dinner."

Now she smiled. "S.P.Q.R.? And you are buying?"

"That was a great hit, Bones." Her eyebrows went up at that. _Bones?_ But he didn't take it back, whatever it meant, instead just pulled her close and slipped her arm behind his back as he slipped his around her. His eyes turned to us, as did hers where she leaned comfortably against him.

"Thanks, both of you, for letting us play. I hope we didn't make trouble for you with your cousin."

Chris made a face and laughed it off. "Nah. He's always like that. Cools down as fast as he heats up, and I am pretty sure my Mom brought ribs for the grill. That'll cheer him up. Want some food? We'd love to have you join us."

They exchanged a quick look and then Roxie said, "No, but thank you. It really was a very pleasant afternoon. Thank you so much for inviting us to play. You didn't need to, especially given how inexpert I was, but I really had a good time." She wriggled out from under Tony's arm and held out her hand and shook both of ours in turn, very firm and warm. Tony did the same and then looped his arm over her shoulder and dragged her across the field toward the parking lot, saying something low and teasing that made her laugh. She looked back once, hair messy and blue eyes bright on mine and smiled. "Thank you again, Will, Chris."

We waved back and set off in the other direction, toward the food. Again, something at the edge of the woods caught my eye. "Aw, shit, Chris, their blanket."

Chris kept walking. "Just bring it over to them, would ya Will? They aren't moving fast and I've got to talk to Jemmy."

I jogged over and grabbed their blanket. Then I cut through the woods, the more direct distance to the parking lot, and came out not too far from where they were approaching a big black Tahoe. I could hear their voices and paused one last time—I know it wasn't polite—to watch them.

When they reached the truck, Roxie slowly pulled away from Tony until she was standing close but not touching him. She had her back to me, but I could see his face. "I can't go to dinner like this, Booth." _Tony Booth_, I guess.

"No more Roxie?" This cryptic comment made her shift and glance down before she looked back up at him, the set of her body reminded me of her challenging Jemmy.

"I acted on impulse earlier. I didn't know if you wanted to...continue."

He looked at her like she held the answer to the universe. Like he was trying to figure her out. I found this reassuring. If a guy like _that_ couldn't figure a woman out, then I shouldn't feel too bad, huh?

Finally, he reached out one hand and slipped her loose hair behind one ear. "You are a mess, Rox." He smiled a little and his voice was so low I could barely hear it. And even from where I stood, I could see her sway into his hand a little. He let his fingers open to cup her face and his eyes never left hers. He leaned in and kissed her temple.

Suddenly, I realized that I should not be watching them and started forward just as Tony stepped away from Roxie and raised his voice. "C'mon out, Will!"

_How'd he know?_ My face was red but I jogged forward, hoping that an implied run through the woods would explain it. His eyes met mine knowingly. Nope. He wasn't buying it and knew I had been there the whole time. Roxie didn't, however, and was smiling at me and taking the blanket from me, thanking me and then folding it over her arm. Tony didn't say anything further about my overhearing them just thanked me and followed Roxie around the car to give her a hand in. _Help the girl get into the truck_, I put that on my list of Things to Do when I went out with a girl. I stood on the edge of the woods until he got into the truck and waved his hand a little. I waved back and turned to run back to my family.


	5. Chapter 5 - When she talks

A/N: So first off, let me just say, happy spring. I know, not very spring-like for most of us, but it is coming! Really. Second, THANK YOU to dharmamonkey for the help with the hockey tickets, and to jazzyproz and Mr. Jazzy for help with the motorcycle. Thank you too to Aly-Fresh who has gone above and beyond as a reviewer this month, as did tantemary and LABonesLover both of whom wrote me via PM with some really lovely and helpful feedback. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story. 1cosmicgirl, alweber, appiedala, Austin12, bangelforeverandalways, bluemuriel, boldtvillemayor, casket4mytears, Choebs, Cocoa Girl, Covalent Bond, Darlingyourewithme, delia84, EverythingEventually, daisesndaffidols, dgschneider, DWBBFan, FaithinBones, (the hilarious) Fluffybird, geraghtyvl, grc73, Jenny1701, jsboneslover, LABonesLover, lee, leea, luckywynner86, maneu, Mary A, MiseryMaker, NatesMama, Ondiac, penandra, Phoenix Rysng, Rangers042376, ratgirl71, razztaztic, redgirlang, SammieAtHome, SchwuppDiDupsi, Spitfire303, suki, tantemary, TemperTemper, the dud pistachio, xoforensicsxo1313, Yatobu And thank you to those who read and favorited and followed it. I'm glad you like it. Truly. It continues to be a wonderful world for me to live in. A number of you have asked, will they ever kiss for real? You are darned tootin' they will. And soon. None of this waitin' around for season 6, I can tell you that.

Best wishes, March 22, 2013

* * *

**Dr. Lance Sweets**: There is clearly a very deep emotional bond between you two.

**Special Agent Seeley Booth**: We're just partners.

**Dr. Lance Sweets**: And why do you think I would have thought otherwise?

**Special Agent Seeley Booth**: Cause, you're 12.

~From the Secret in the Soil, Season 3

It is Hodgins' birthday so he gets to pick the place. Booth doesn't like Mexican food especially but he goes along pretty gracefully. Once we get to the trendy California Mexican restaurant, however, he grumbles under his breath to me about how everything is going to be covered in fancy greens that taste like soap. I believe he is referring to cilantro. He's not wrong, although I love cilantro. When our lunch comes, he is so busy laughing with Cam and Hodgins about some sporting event that he absently moves his cilantro onto my roasted squash soft tacos, scrapes the homemade cucumber salad and queso fresco onto my plate, and scoops half of my guacamole onto his.

I turn and look at him with enough incredulity that he should feel ashamed of himself. He just grins and scoops guacamole into his mouth with one finger, removing it with a theatrical pop. "C'mon, Bones, you know you never eat all of yours. And I gave you my cucumbers. You love them." I do love them and am cheered by how he has rebounded from his grouchy mood. This case, with its secrets and two sisters at its heart, moved him and caused him pain in some way. I am happy to see him playful, and he seemed to enjoy his food well enough.

Hodgins ordered sopapillas for dessert; powdered and puffed and fried as they are, they immediately reminded me of the fried dough that Booth had bought us for dessert that time and without thinking, into the silence that comes with people enjoying their food, I said to Booth. "Booth, these are just like fried dough!"

Angela smiled at my enthusiasm and I smiled at her powdered sugar rimmed lips and she laughed and said, "When did Booth feed you fried dough, Brennan?"

The smallest movement from Booth, or rather lack of movement...just a hitch in the natural flow of his body was enough for me to remember just what we were doing, who we were pretending to be, when I had eaten fried dough with him. I just managed not to look at him guiltily but my face must have shown something because Angela's eyebrows went up inquisitively.

Booth jumped in to save me by saying, "I promised Bones that I wouldn't say anything about how _much_ fried dough she ate. Hoist by your own petard, there, eh Bones?" Under the table, Booth's hand squeezed my fingers briefly, but it was enough. I waited until the moment was well past and everyone was engaged in some way and then looked up at Booth. He turned to me immediately and smiled a crooked half smile, like sharing a secret. Which, of course, he was.

"Not as good." He said.

"No. Not as good." I said.

Later that night, at the late fall fair that Booth found an hour and a half north of the city, I wore denim short shorts that had been made by cutting off the legs from an old pair of jeans. Not my jeans, but someone else's, as I had found them at a thrift shop along with a button down red checked western style shirt with pearl snaps. Booth seemed amused by my pigtails but after the third man tried to initiate an intimate conversation with me, he no longer left me alone and said he thought I should wear my hair down.

"_Toneee_." I teased, relishing the freedom to needle him and relishing even more, if I was honest with myself, the freedom to touch him. I slipped my arm around his waist and leaned into him, and his own arm snugged me even closer. I was in fact, almost resting against his chest right now and with my left hand, I steadied myself on his bicep. He was still craning his neck and glaring over my head at the departing man so I reached up and held his face, stroking his rough cheek to get his attention. I let my voice turn as soft and sweet as I thought Roxie's could be. "You know you don't have to worry about other men, Baby."

I must have gotten it right because all of Tony's attention was on me all of a sudden. His dark eyes on mine. His breath, hot on my face in the cool night air. I could feel his chest rising and falling a little, quicker than usual from adrenaline and anger. My fingers moved back down to stroke his arm, soothing. "Right, Tony?"

His eyes slipped down to my lips and I felt my body curve even closer to him. For one, two, three delicious moments I thought he would kiss me. That would be all right wouldn't it? Not a sexual kiss, per se, just a warm kiss between sweethearts. Instead, his mouth hovered just above mine for four, five, six. I breathed his air, spicy and male and _Booth_ seven, eight, nine. Or Tony. And then, he moved his head just enough that his lips brushed my cheek near my mouth warmly. "Right, Roxie." His voice was husky and sweet. I shivered and he thought I was cold and I wore his leather jacket and snuggled under his arm while we rode the Ferris Wheel.

* * *

2. Santa in the Slush

**Dr. Temperance Brennan:** [She and Booth have just kissed under the mistletoe] Was that enough steamboats?

**Caroline Julian:** Plenty. A whole flotilla.

**Special Agent Seeley Booth:** I don't know what that means, but, um, Merry Christmas.

~From Santa in the Slush, Season 3

When I got back to the Hoover after lunch, there was a shiny red envelope waiting for me on my desk, a bold, black **T.**scrawled on the front.

Over a week had passed since we kissed in Bones' office. Four days had passed since Parker and I had driven out to the jail to light a Christmas tree for her family. Parker was gone with Rebecca now and Bones was away on her dig and I had volunteered for holiday duty figuring it was the least I could do for guys with families _not_ travelling as far away from them as they possibly could. Despite a little bit of loneliness and after wallowing in self-pity for a day or so, I actually kind of enjoyed working the season. The building was quiet and little parties kept popping up in the break room. I got to do more straightforward cop stuff than usual since we were short-handed, and it didn't seem to generate as much paperwork as murder and dismemberment did.

"Marnie!" I called to Charlie's replacement for the week.

She popped her head inside the door. "Yes, Agent Booth?"

I flapped the envelope at her. "What's this?"

"Came for you at the front desk via legit courier. Security sniffed it, scanned it. Nothing dangerous, just paper." She paused, waiting to see if there was more, and then, when there wasn't, left.

T for Tony? Before I could think of all of the ways that what was in this envelope could be bad or dangerous or awful, I slit the seal with a knife and pulled out four tickets to the Capitals. _Right on the glass_. Center ice. I mean, if you can't be on the ice, the next best place is right on the glass. A handwritten note inside, _dictated_ by its unfamiliar handwriting, said "Dear Tony, I hope you like my Christmas present to you. Have a boy's night out on me. Your Roxie."

This thing we were doing, playing at Tony and Roxie, it...it made me nervous, to be perfectly honest. I know I started it but...I don't know what Bones told herself on the nights we went out, and it doesn't happen very often and I can't really see the harm in it so I am not looking _too_ closely at it myself. But that said, I have never fooled myself into thinking that this was about Tony and Roxie. It was about Booth and Brennan, always was. It was about giving ourselves little breaks. An excuse to be a little bit more open with each other, and to have a little fun together without anyone else poking their nose into our business. That almost kiss at the carnival though. _That_ could have changed things. But this, tickets to a game, _on the ice_...this was good, put us back on track, and was fucking awesome to boot. I picked up the phone to call some "boys". _Roxie, you sure know how to treat your man right._

* * *

3. The Verdict in the Story

**Caroline**: Dr. Brennan is suspended from all crime-related duties.

**Booth**: What?

**Brennan**: For laughing at Booth?

**Booth**: That really doesn't bother me.

…

**Caroline**: You can't work together until the trial is over.

**Brennan**: This is not necessary.

**Booth**: They don't need to split us up.

************B&B*************

**BRENNAN**: Here. (she takes out a long box and puts it on the table) You should wear this tie in the courtroom.

**MAX**: Oh! But it's – it's a grey tie.

**BRENNAN**: Apparently, the color grey tells the jury that you are a serious man with good judgment.

**MAX**: Yeah, or that I'm drab.

**BRENNAN**: I can't stop this from happening.

**MAX**: What do you mean?

**BRENNAN**: Booth, Hodgins, Zack, Angela, Caroline – they're all my friends but I can't-

**MAX**: Hey, listen. I know you love me, alright? I can see it even if nobody else can so that's something you don't have to worry about.

(Brennan looks like she might cry and Max reaches for her hand and they have a moment. He then raises her hand and kisses it. She does love him.)

**MAX**: I'll wear the tie.

~From the transcript to The Verdict in the Story

Not letting us work together because Max was going to trial made sense. The rule was there to prevent personal issues from getting mixed up in professional ones. What the rule didn't take into account was by splitting us up, I couldn't look out for her, make sure she was alright. She really _should_ have been crying in a corner. She thought that it was all right that she wasn't. She thought that she was alright. And as usual, she was both right and wrong. And I knew that there were going to be parts of this that were hard for her, even if they weren't the parts that Sweets thought were going to be hard. A little part of me was happy every time he was wrong. Damn shrink. Even though I kinda liked the kid.

Since we couldn't work together, and because she was spending a lot of time at the jail, or with Russ or Caroline's former husband defense attorney, I didn't really see her much during the days in those weeks leading up to Max's trial. Oh, I called her, and, to my surprise, she even called me. But I can't really tell what is going on with Bones from just her voice. She controls her voice much better than she controls her face, her body. I can always tell when something's wrong when I can see her. And, I couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't safe without me, that she was about to be hurt. She was, of course, although it wasn't the kind of hurt I could protect her from. And that was driving me fucking crazy.

I could make her smile, make her feel better, even when she didn't admit that she felt bad. For all her smarts, her genius vocabulary, and her fancy doctorates, her sense of humor tended toward the slapstick. A goofy look, mispronounced words, pretending to slip on a banana...these will all make her laugh faster than anything else. A giggle would escape sometimes and she'd look embarassed, but she would laugh. And that made it all worth it.

So with all this on my mind, I drove out to the prison and waited in the entry vestibule until she came out.

"Booth!" She seemed surprised but not sorry to see me. She did seem sad, however. I can always tell.

"What happened?'

"What do you mean? Nothing happened. We just finished our first meeting with Clark. They left a little while ago and I...stayed." She kind of trailed off, and I got the sense that she had more to say. I could also tell she wasn't about to say it.

"Want to get some lunch?"

"I'm not very hungry." It was 2 in the afternoon and I'd be willing to bet she hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast.

"C'mon, Bones. I can't eat all those fries by myself."

"What fries?"

"There is an great diner down the road. Best fries ever. Good salad too." She looked at me suspiciously but allowed me to hustle her out to the parking lot. I put both my hands on her shoulders and ignored her protests, manhandling her toward the truck. She insisted we should drive separately so I didn't have to bring her back but I just kept pushing her around until she smiled and batted at my hands. But I got her to smile and to agree to drive with me to the diner, so that was a win.

In the diner, it was obvious she was exhausted. She ordered soup and when our food came, she did eat some of my fries with it. She was so tired that she admitted, as we left, that she hadn't been sleeping well at night. I knew she wasn't telling me something, so I started poking around a little. Occupational hazard.

"Hey, Bones, how did it go at the prison? Just in general, I mean. I know you can't share details with me."

She answered readily enough, "It went all right, I suppose. It took a while for Max to accept Clark as his expert but then we just talked through the case and the lawyer's strategy." Her voice dropped a little, both in affect and amplitude, and in a quiet, neutral tone she said, "It is hard to get used to coming to the prison, to talking about the fact that men were killed and gutted, as if it is a normal thing to do, something people do. Something I do. It doesn't seem like something I would do..." Her voice trailed off and she glanced over at me as I drove.

"I didn't see Russ at the prison with you." I observed, trying to bring the conversation around to family. I could tell that this had something to do with Max. No surprise there, but what was it today?

"No. He left earlier. So did Clark and David Barron. I stayed." There was a pause before she stopped talking for good if that makes any sense. _That_. Right there. That's the trouble.

I pulled up in a spot next to her car and put the truck in park. Turning toward her, I tried for casual. "So you hung around to talk with your old man?"

"It was really just a few minutes, Booth. Well, I am going to get back to the lab. Thank you for lunch, Booth." And before I could stop her, she was out of the car and unlocking hers. One thing that most people don't know about prisons is that the visitor parking lots are deliberately planned and built as far from the buildings as possible. That way, the cameras get a good look at anyone coming in to the prison, and it takes visitors a long time to get to the building. So it felt like Bones and I were in the back forty, miles from everywhere, and not another soul to be seen at the moment.

I rolled the window down and said her name, just her name, but I used my voice to stop her as she pulled open her door. "Bones."

She froze for just a second and then she turned around. Now _she_ tried for casual. But her voice was all Brennan, aggressive and combative when she is protecting herself, her secrets. "What, Booth?"

"Go out with me tonight." I had an idea, a way to cheer her up a little, maybe it would help her sleep, and it would mean I could see her regularly through this. It had been a long time since we had been Tony and Roxie. Each time felt like it could be the last and this time was no different. That said, I could see as she listened, and then took a minute to think, that she knew what I was talking about. I guessed, however, that she was going to have a hard time accepting my offer, that she would feel it was a weakness to need help. To need me.

On the other hand, because I wasn't pushing her to talk about her father, she relaxed a little and her weariness was again clear. "Booth, I just don't think I can. I—"

I interrupted. "Bones, I don't mean go out in public. You don't have to dress up. Just jeans and something warm on top. Just trust me, okay?" As I played the trust card, I acknowledged the depth of my anxiety for her. My gut was churning and was driving me to get this done, to get some time with her. _She's not safe. _But she wasn't about to be rushed.

"I'll think about it." And turned away, ducking down out of my field of vision as she slipped into the driver's seat of her car and closed the door. I waited until she started the car and drove off before following her down the long satelite road that led away from the prison.

Knowing I had to give her time, I went back to work. Around four o'clock, my phone rang and caller ID showed her number.

"Hey, Bones." But she wasn't in the mood for greetings.

"Okay, Booth. Going out tonight is acceptable. Where should I meet you?"

"Outside your apartment building at 6. Don't eat and dress warm."

"All right. I have to go now. Bye." I sat, holding the receiver tightly, relieved, and decided how I wanted to play this.

*******************B&B*******************

"_Booth!_" And that was it: her voice saying my name, happy and surprised and as close to laughing as she has gotten since my (apparently) ridiculous idea that the skeleton might have been rolled up in a carpet. I pulled up to the curb on the bike. I borrowed it from Nick but he wanted it back by Saturday until I told him it was for Bones and then he smiled at me, _the bastard,_ and said if it was for her, then I could just bring it back when I was done. Said to tell her he said hi. As if. But unfortunately the player asshole knew that she would remember him and the bike and the red scarf, which I saw in her closet recently but have never seen her actually wear since that first Tony and Roxie night thank god.

She was wearing jeans and a jacket that was bulky enough that I suspected she was wearing a sweater too. I had brought another leather jacket but left it where it was for now.

"Hiya, Roxie" I smiled.

"Hiya, Tony." She held onto my shoulders as she climbed onto the bike behind me, slipping her arms around my waist without hesitation. I felt her get her feet under her on the foot pegs and push up to standing. Her arms slipped up higher so that she could hold on to me as she leaned forward and planted a big, warm, soft kiss on my jaw, just in front of my ear.

"What was that for?" I growled over my shoulder at her.

"You take good care of me, Tony. Thanks, Honey." Amusement, always, at hearing endearments come out of Bones' mouth, mixed with a funny sort of warmth that settled in my stomach at her nearness, her embrace. Shaking it off, I revved the engine.

"You ready, Rox?"

"You betcha, Tony" and she pressed her face against my back and squeezed. _Ready._

*******************B&B*******************

I kept the Honda VFR1200F in the garage at the Hoover and a couple nights a week, all through the weeks leading up to Max's trial, I picked Bones up and we took a ride. We always took a ride on the nights she had met with Max and the lawyer, and with Clark and Russ, at the prison. And then we rode _every_ night of the trial. Sometimes, on other days, when I wouldn't know the trigger because I didn't get to see her as much as usual, she would text me. _Are you free to take a ride tonight?_

After the first couple of times, exploring, we mostly drove out to the beach at Annapolis. Farthest we drove was Assateague Island where we had been on that goofy pirate's treasure case back in our earliest days together. Sometimes we'd stop for dinner at a diner on the way, or even occasionally on the way back, but most of the time was spent either on the bike or on the beach. We were less than a month from Memorial Day so there was no lifeguard coverage on the beach and far fewer people than there are in the summer. But the weather was starting to warm up so it wasn't too cold. Low 70's during the day and mid 50's deep in the night, so we were good to sit for hours. I started packing a blanket and a single towel—not a lot of storage room on a motorcycle. We always waded a little while because it was so rare to be at the water even though it was as cold as a witch's tit still in early May.

The ride out loosened something in Bones and however tense and controlled she was when I picked her up, she was always a little softer, a little more open by the time we got where we were going. One night, early on, we didn't have much time before she had to be back to take a phone call so we only drove through the city to a park a couple miles away. It just wasn't long enough. We had a nice hour in the late day sunshine, but it wasn't one of our better times. After that, I insisted that she come with me for longer.

As for Tony and Roxie, we stayed in character for the few people we met, for the trips to gas stations or diners, for pickup and drop off. But once we were at the beach and had dried our feet off and put our socks and shoes back on, we were Booth and Brennan. Even though we were both careful to not use names, either set.

That first night, that first beach. The weather was decent and clear. We could see stars. I put the extra jacket on the ground and sat. When Bones turned around from where she stood, having identified a million constellations probably, she walked over to join me. She stood at my feet, toe to toe, and looked down at me, silent. I spread my legs apart in invitation and after a small hesitation, she sat between my legs and leaned back against my chest. I shifted and we adjusted until we found a comfortable position.

I don't know that I stayed silent on purpose. It's just that she felt _good_ in my arms. I was busy. Feeling her hair against my face, soft and windblown. Her back against my chest. And she was _letting me_ put my arms around her. And then, as if all her conditions had been met, she started to talk. She didn't ever talk long but she told me if something hard had happened.

That's how I learned that Max told her that _he _knew she loved him and that she didn't have to worry that he didn't know that. That's how I heard about how amazed she was by Angela and the way Angela was willing to go to jail for their friendship.

That's how I heard about how her brother Russ could still make her hurt the way that only a sibling can. "He said 'Maybe you could brag on them another time, Tempe?". And how he could make her happy the way that only a sibling can. "He told my father that he thought that I believed that Max had killed Kirby and didn't see how 'he could wear that so lightly'... He used to defend me when we were kids too."

One night during the trial, we were sitting on the blanket. My arms were behind me, propping us up. Bones had done that thing that she did where she turned sideways and put her legs over one of mine and lay against my chest. I think she does it when she gets tired and I knew it wouldn't be long before we headed home. Instead of talking, she made a weird choking sound, quickly stifled. I tried to pull back a little to see her but I was holding us up and couldn't really move much. Plus she wouldn't talk if we were face to face, only when she could look out at the ocean, leaning up against me. She made the sound again and I realized she was _laughing_.

"Dr. Geeks!" She said and burst into peals of laughter. I sat up straighter and brought my arms around her even as hers snaked around me. I held her as she laughed, feeling her body shaking and letting go against mine. I laughed with her and maybe snuck a kiss to her head. As we walked back to the bike a few minutes later, she said "You do whisper rather loudly." I couldn't trust myself not to say her name so I just shoved her, like we were twelve years old. She shoved me back, and then we drove home.

The evening of the day that Max was found not guilty, she took everyone out to dinner and drinks. It was late by the time that Russ and Max took off for their hotel and the rest of the crowd broke up. She paid the bill while I waited for her and we walked out together, the last ones to leave. I could feel the tenseness in my muscles, my body. I knew I shouldn't drive out with her tonight. I should go to the gym and take out my frustration on a heavy bag. She had put herself at risk today and roped me into making it real. _That's a lot of heart, Bones_. I realized I was gripping the wheel, and my teeth hurt from clenching my jaw.

I felt her hand on my arm and her straightforward, "Booth? What's wrong?"

"Bones..." My voice was low and didn't hide my anger well but sometimes she would miss things like that. I hoped so. Tomorrow I would fight with her. Today, I was glad for her, I was, and I didn't want to ruin this day, this night for her. "I'm going to drop you off at home, okay. We can talk more tomorrow. I'm tired."

"But...I thought that we could go to the beach." No hesitation. _She had no fucking clue. _

"Bones, I just...I just _can't_ tonight. Okay? I just...I don't want to...I just...just...just can't."

"But _why_, Booth? Did I do something wrong?"

"Bones, just stop, all right? I don't want to talk about this right now. Just leave it alone."

"But—" I started the engine and pulled out in traffic, snapping on the radio. Immediately irritated by the sound, I snapped it off again and tried to concentrate on driving.

"Please, Booth?" Her voice was emotionless, carefully neutral. That's when I knew that this was important to her. Very important. I also knew that this was the last time she would ask, too. Maybe the last time she would ask me for anything for a while. _Fuck_.

I sighed, and as an answer, pulled a u-turn and headed for the Hoover parking garage. Bones knew where I kept the bike and relaxed slightly in her seat at my side.

Like all the other times, having the power of the bike under me, letting go and pushing the bike to speeds that should certainly have earned me a ticket was a relief. Bones clearly felt the same way and she and I had gotten used to each other's bodies these past weeks. She would lean into the curves with me, squeeze me if she wanted to tell me something, press against me hard but lean up so that she could feel the wind on her face when we went really fast. I was angry this time, though, and we were out of sync. I don't know if she could tell or not, but I could.

Finally, I stopped the bike at the near end of the parking lot, but this late, almost eleven at night, no one else was here. I turned off the Honda and Bones climbed off. I did too but took a seat on the bike, not making a move to go to the beach. After a few steps, Bones turned around.

"Aren't you coming, Booth?" I knew I couldn't, wouldn't, let her go alone.

"Bones, I'll come, but if we go down there, it is not as Tony and Roxie. I can't be someone else with you right now."

"What do you mean? You_ are_ angry."

I didn't know I had moved until I was in front of her, gripping her shoulders. "You are damn right I'm angry. _Don't _you do that to me. _Don't_ you do that again, Bones." I shook her as I spoke. This should have made _her_ mad, but it didn't. I don't know why but she reached out and put her hands on my chest to try to soothe me.

"_Booth_. I'm fine, Booth. I'm fine."

"_Bones_." And I pulled her into my arms. Conditioned from the past weeks, she snugged right into me; our bodies just fit. Her arms reached around me to hug me, and my hands pressed her to me and rubbed her back. "Jesus, Bones. You scared the shit out of me."

"Why, Booth? I don't understand..."

"Bones, how can you not understand? You tried to implicate yourself in a murder—"

"Booth, I _had_ to. I had to give the jury a story, another possibility—"

"No, Bones, you didn't have to." Her breath huffed out in a little gasp as I embraced her even tighter. "But you did and—"

"I needed a bogeyman. He stayed for _me—_"

"Don't give me that. He is a grown man, Bones, he makes his own decis—"

"_You_ told me Booth. Brains and heart—"

"Dammit, Bones, _stop talking_!" I am yelling at her now, my hands pushing her away only to hold her close to me by her shoulders again. "Just _stop_. Listen to _me_ for a change."

"Okay, Booth—"

"I said stop talking!"

I'll give her credit, she didn't start talking again. I was irrational with anger and fear both and just like always, she didn't back down. "I did say brains and heart, and then later, you made me say that you had time..." My voice broke a little and I coughed to clear it. "...you had time to commit a fucking murder. THAT's the problem. You made me _help_. Without me, you couldn't have told that story, sold that story. Bones, you made _me_ help. Don't...don't do that again." I pulled her into me again and pressed my face into her neck.

She didn't talk, but her arms came up around my neck and stroked the back of my head. I pushed my face harder into her and my hands curled into her sides. She didn't flinch though just kept running her fingers through my hair.

"Can I talk yet?" Her voice was a whisper at my ear. I grunted. She took that to mean yes.

"Given the unlikely possibility of these exact circumstances coming up again, I feel comfortable promising you that I will not do _that_ again. I think that these weeks, both the days spent with my father and in the courtroom and the nights with you, here, riding the motorcycle as Tony and Roxie, they have been like a …time out of time. They too will not happen exactly this way again."

"Neither will this." And her mouth pressed against mine, hot and sweet. _Oh Jesus. _ I didn't think. There was no hesitation. Just pleasure. Under the hallogen lights of the parking lot, I put my hands on either side of her face and devoured her. I opened my mouth over hers and took everything she would give me. She was making hungry mewling sounds as I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth and bit it, knowing it would swell and get a little puffy. She moaned at that and her body bent and curved into me. The thought that later her mouth would still bear the signs of our kissing made me want to keep kissing her, all night long in fact, and made me tug her even closer to me. Her hands slipped under my t-shirt and stroked the skin of my back and sides. Now it was my turn to moan. It felt good, too good. Soon I wouldn't be able to stop. I wrenched myself away from her, stood a few feet away and bent to put my hands on my knees. I let my head drop down between my arms and panted, trying to control myself.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her take a step toward me. I jerked up and backed away from her, my hands held out to stop her. "Bones, stop..."

She stopped and our eyes met. Her lips were wet and open, her eyes wide and glittering in the dim light of the parking lot. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Booth." Her voice was insistent and I wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. She took a step forward and checked with me that it was okay, her eyes steady on mine. When I didn't stop her, she kept coming, finally standing in front of me and taking my hands in hers. "I'm sorry, Booth." And now, finally, after all these weeks, I saw tears on her cheeks.

"Oh, baby," I said, and pulled her close. She cried silently into my chest, and I stroked her hair and stole a few more kisses along her skin. I didn't try to stop her crying or soothe her. I just held her. And she held me too, her arms banded tightly around me. Something loosened and broke free, then, and I wasn't angry at her any more. When she finally pulled back, she let me wipe her cheeks with my thumbs. She let me smooth her hair and rub her back one more time. She let me lean down and press one more soft kiss against her lips. She did pull away slowly, then, letting our lips hover close for long minutes as we breathed each other's air. Against my mouth she spoke.

"Thank you, Booth. For being Tony for me with me. For being you, for being Booth. For...helping me even though it hurt you." She looked up at me, a crooked smile on her face now. "I feel better now. Will you take me home?" I took a deep breath. Let it out on a shiver. Bones slipped her hand into mine, and as if it were my idea, I led her back to the bike and the long drive home.

* * *

A/N: More to come...


	6. Chapter 6 - Standing Close

Welcome to Spring, everyone. I hope you like this chapter. 3SQ

* * *

**From The Pain in the Heart, part of the end scene, transcripts**

BRENNAN: (getting up) But I never gave him anything.

(She leaves and Angela starts after her until...)

BOOTH: Angela.

(Booth then follows after Brennan who is sitting on the stairs, head in her hands, when he finally catches up to her. He sits down next to her and starts reading the letter that he had pulled out of the box earlier.)

BOOTH: (reading from the letter) "Dear Mr. Addy. It is my pleasure to offer you the post of my intern in Forensic Anthropology. I choose you from hundreds of applicants because of your knowledge, your desire to learn and because I feel you will find a home here." (he sets the letter in the envelope) I think you gave him something great, Bones.

(Booth hands her the letter. She takes it and then places her head on his shoulder. He places his head against hers as the screen fades to black.)

* * *

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Nothing. But I felt better while you were talking."

"Do you want me to keep talking?"

"Yes, just for a minute." She leaves her head where it is, against his shoulder. And just like that, his mind goes blank. He can't for the life of him think of a thing to say.

"Booth?" She starts to raise her head. Instinctively he reaches with his far hand to stroke her hair off her forehead, to keep her from moving. She subsides, but he still doesn't know what to say.

"What do you want me to talk about? Zach?"

She sighs, a small sad sigh. "No, not Zach. How about Tony and Roxie? Tell me a story."

"_Bones_. Hell, you're the writer. I'm not good at this kind of thing." Her hand sneaks over to gently entwine with his, all without lifting her head from his shoulder. And he lets her, clasps her cool hand in his, all without moving his head from where it rests on hers. Tries not to think about how good it feels. She has been in full-on Compartmentalized Brennan ever since they left the hospital and if she is opening up a little, he wants to make that last.

"Booth, how is this different than what you call 'positing a scenario'? You can do that..."

He blows out on a laugh, giving in. "It's a lot different Bones, but I don't know how. You're the smart one. But, uh, I'll try, if you help."

"Okay." Silence settles between them as he tries to think of what to talk about. All he can think of is how hot Tony thinks Roxie is, all the ways to describe in a wildly inappropriate amount of detail how sexy and desirable she is. Maybe that's what Brennan is fishing for, but he doesn't think so and he isn't about to find out.

"Well," she finally ventures, "you remember how they met at that wedding?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, what happened next? How did they meet again?"

"I think that Tony probably called Roxie and asked her out."

"How did he get her phone number?"

"He asked his brother to ask the groom."

"Oh. Yes, that is logical." _Logic_. A little too close to the painful conversation in the hospital with Zach this morning. He pushes the story along to distract her.

"And he got a lot of ribbing from his brother, and the groom when he saw him later that month at the hockey game they both played in. Although Tony is the best hockey player they have, so Mike—that's the groom—wasn't really an asshole about it." At this, Brennan raises her head to see his face. He gives her a cocky smile. _Hey, it's my story. Plus I __**would**__ be the best hockey player on the team._ She raises her eyebrows and laughs at him, but she doesn't stop him and squeezes his hand to continue.

"Tony's brother, Albert," More raised eyebrows, "...yeah, rough name, but he goes by Bo so that's alright." Booth give silent thanks to his best friend in 6th grade Bo for existing. "_Anyway_, he got your number and called you, I mean he called _her_. Roxie's roommate answered the phone and wouldn't let him talk to Roxie. _Tony Who_? _I've never heard of Tony Scallion. I remember when she went to that wedding and she didn't say nuthin' about no Tony.'_" Bones' eyes are dancing as he hams up the accent, and he can't resist the accidental happiness on her face.

"He didn't know what to do but then Roxie must have taken the phone from her and he heard her voice on the line. 'Just a sec, Tony. Let me go in where there is **privacy**.' And then Tony felt better because Roxie sounded like she was glad to hear from him. 'I didn't think you would ever call, Tony.' And that just floored Tony, Bones. Most girls would have made him work for it, but not Roxie. She knew she was worth calling and she wasn't going to waste time pretending she didn't want him to call. He laughed when she said that and then felt sure enough of his welcome to joke back at her. He probably said something like 'Well, Rox. I'm calling now, and I was wondering if my new girl wanted to go out with me tonight.' He had been going to ask her out for this weekend but suddenly it seemed too far away." Booth thinks he can hear people and wonders if they are about to be discovered sitting here on the stairs to Limbo, holding hands.

Bones glances toward the catwalk and disentangles their fingers but asks, "What he did he ask her to do on their date?"

Booth rises and holds out his hand to help her up but she is already rising or maybe she is pulling back into herself again. She doesn't object to his hand at her waist, though. "He asked her to dinner and then out for dancing." He answers decisively. She laughs and smiles up at him. "Really?"

"Yep. Eye-talian food and dancing at a club." He hams it up a little again and grabs her hand and does a shimmy with his hips, pulling her into a little swing move. _He can't get over how easily she lets him touch her._

"Booth!" She objects, but weakly, letting him keep her hands and spin her around once. _He's really alive. _The voices are much louder now. Cam's voice rises above the others. Booth resettles his hand at her back, and she is still smiling as she heads for the door.

"Dr. Brennan? Booth?" A second later, Cam, Hodgins, and Angela all appear. "C'mon. I know no one wants to, but let's go get something to eat." She adds, grimly. "Maybe something to drink."

Angela walks forward to slip an arm around Brennan and to Booth's surprise, Bones slips her own arm around Angela. The three women walk on ahead and he and Hodgins bring up the rear, both of them dropping the pretence of good cheer for the few minutes it takes to get to the cars.

***********************************************B&B ************************************************** *

Booth jiggled his poker chip and some change in his pocket, eventually switched his change to the other pocket so he could flip just the poker chip while he looked out the window of his office. He hadn't been this restless in a long time, since Zach went to Iraq and Bones wouldn't return his calls or go out in the field with him regularly. Ever since Zach went away, Bones had been preoccupied. She seemed okay, but subdued. Down, definitely. Exactly the kind of situation where he might have asked her to go out as Roxie to his Tony.

He hadn't though. They hadn't gone out since after Max got out, the night they kissed. For a while, he was making sure that nothing had changed, that they were still okay, still the same kind of partners as ever. That kiss certainly hadn't changed Bones' attitude toward work or him. She was just as abrupt toward the techs in the field, just as much of a know-it-all as ever toward him. He wasn't being fair, Booth acknowledged sulkily. She really was much more sensitive at crime scenes these days and for every sharp word, she doled out positive recognition as well. For the techs, the fact that her praise came in such a matter-of-fact manner had ceased to seem robotic and had the weight of ultimate judgment behind it. He had seen more than one of his people straighten in pride and smile for a solid hour after being on the receiving end of her curt praise.

No, that kiss hadn't changed anything that he could see really. What irritated him was how often he thought of it, how hard it was to stop thinking about it. How easy it seemed to be for her to forget it.

He'd like to think that he now wanted to ask her out as Tony to cheer her up, to give her a break from some of the sadness that came with Zach's fuck up, but _she_ didn't seem to need or want it. _He_ did. He thought about the monster truck rally and how she asked him out right there at the lab when he felt rode hard and put away wet, still recovering from his torture session with Gallagher and his poncy lawyer. _That_ was the night that really stuck with him. The way she touched him, let him touch her, pressed into him, leaned up to whisper in his ear, drank beer from his cup. Yeah, that night was something he replayed in his memory often, especially since those nights on the beach were now forbidden territory if he wasn't going to start thinking about how sweet she tasted, how hot her mouth was under his..._Stop, Booth. Just stop. _

In the last two weeks, he had filled every moment of spare time with sports or Parker or catching up on the eternal backlog of paperwork. At first, Bones had been at the hospital a lot, although once Zach had been moved, she could only visit on weekends. Now she too was catching up on work, and without an active case, he couldn't really complain that she was avoiding him. And, honestly, he didn't think she was. They had been to the diner for lunch a couple times this week and she had even come by with coffee one day when she was at the Hoover giving a training to the techs on some new crime scene protocols she wanted put in place. When he asked her about doing something at night, Thai food or coming to one of his games with the rest of the squints, maybe watching a movie at his apartment, sometimes she came, sometimes she begged off. She did look tired, still, so he didn't push it. He _wouldn't_ ask her out on a Tony and Roxie night. It seemed too soon after...well you-know-what...and she seemed _fine_.

What really got him though was how _guilty_ he felt. He didn't want to talk to Sweets or anything like that, and he knew this feeling would go away eventually but it was taking its own sweet time. And usually when he felt bad like this, being around Bones made him feel better. He didn't know why he felt guilty. _He _wasn't the one who didn't tell her he was dead. _He_ wasn't the one who became an apprentice to a serial killer. _He_ wasn't even the one who initiated the kiss. What the _hell?_ He ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed his face with his hands, turning away from the window. He had ran for miles this morning when he woke up early. He shut down his computer and strode from the room. _It looked like he'd be running again tonight. _

***********************************************B&B ************************************************** *

I checked the peek hole but I already knew it would be Booth at my door. No one else knocks so late; no one else sounds just like him. I suppressed my irritation as he crowded me back into my own apartment. My response to his tendency to lean in close to me has always been to get closer to him. At first, he was a challenge. He was interfering in my work, commandeering my time, and seemed to care only about his own goals. Of course I could understand, respect, this.

But close observation, as I worked with him, revealed that he didn't get that close with anyone else. Occasionally, when threatening someone or interrogating a suspect, for effect, he would move in close, but he always backed away as soon as possible, uncomfortable in the way that all humans are when they have crossed into each other's personal space.

And not only did we get into each other's space, get closer than we did with anyone else, we would get closer and closer, sometimes almost nose to nose if we were fighting or speaking passionately about something.

I always knew we were attracted to each other. I have always been aware of _my_ attraction to _him_, in any case. But even after that first case together and our aborted liaison the night he fired me, even after the heated kiss in my office in front of Caroline (I was lying when I said it was like kissing my brother), even after a few other close calls through the years, even then, each time, I just thought that our attraction to each other had flared up.

What I think now—after that kiss on the beach—is that we are always fighting this attraction. Those occasions on which we kissed are less like a _flaring up_ and more like a _breaking down_, or giving in. Like we are magnets held apart.

So I'm irritated. Ever since that kiss, when he gets in my space, I am now aware of my desire to move closer. I have to force myself to keep a reasonable distance between us. I just want to lean in, get as close as possible. I don't always think about kissing. I think about getting so close that I can feel the heat of him on my lips, my nose. I want to breathe on his neck and feel him shiver. I want to lick the skin below his ear and nuzzle my face along his neck. I want to open my mouth against the back of his jaw and kiss—long and slow, gently sucking open-mouthed kisses along his jaw until I reach his chin. And then I want to kiss up the other side. I want—

"Bones?" Even his voice is irritating. Can't he see I'm thinking?

"What, Booth?" I close and lock the door and then turn back, pressing my lips together and slipping by him to escape his nearness. In fact, when I get to the living room, I stand behind a chair so that he would have to climb _onto_ it to get closer to me. Even as I think it, he moves across the room toward me. I shift to put the chair squarely between us. His eyes flick to the chair and his eyebrows and mouth telegraph his confusion.

"You're up late." He says, holding my eyes with his own impenetrable brown ones.

"Yes. It is fortunate for you, or you would have woken me up. You are awake also, however. Why, Booth?" I break his gaze, looking down at my hands on the back of the chair. When he doesn't say anything, I look back up at him.

"I have been having trouble sleeping." He seems about to say more but pauses. When he speaks again, I am convinced that he isn't saying what he had originally intended. "I wondered if you wanted to go out."

"As Roxie and Tony?" I can hear the aggression in my voice, but I doubt anyone but Booth would hear it as anything other than bluntness. And he doesn't seem to notice. Again, I am irritated, almost angry.

"What?" He asks and I realize that he has just, in essence, _lied_ to me. He knew damn well what I meant and now he is making it sound like it my idea.

"Nevermind, Booth. I don't want to go out tonight. Thank you for asking." I said snidely.

His jaw juts out and he purses his lips, a little angry himself. "Oh yeah, well I do. And I think you should go with me." Despite the chair he has found a way to get closer. He's come around the side of the chair and I can feel the heat coming off his body. He hasn't taken his leather jacket off, his black button down shirt is open a little at the top and I can see a bit of his chest. He's close enough that I can see the bristles on his face. Despite the late hour, the invitation, he hasn't shaved. _Tony_ always shaves.

"I don't have to do what you think I should do, Booth." And I try to go the other way, around the chair. He has anticipated me though and moves so swiftly that I am actually surprised when I come up against him.

"Booth. Stop pushing me." My voice is cold and even. I drop my hands immediately as they touch his shirt and clench them at my sides. I don't like this feeling, don't like being stirred up and angry, but I like backing down less, so I stand my ground and tilt my head up to hold his gaze.

"Bones..._Bones._" I expect him to start a full on charm offensive or maybe a caring, let-me-take-care-of-you one and I feel tears prick. Intolerable. But I stand my ground. And he doesn't continue. Something holds him back, too. We are both breathing harder than we need to be, faces close together. These last weeks have been awful. Booth's death was _eviscerating_. I memorized its dictionary definition, learned as part of an English exercise the week my parents disappeared, and it has remained with me, unsurprisingly. It's first definition is "disemboweled", but it's second is even more devastating: "to be deprived of one's essential content." _That_ is what I felt when he died. This feeling now, the combination of betrayal and ownership and guilt and sadness at Zach's…_loss_…is also intolerable. And yet, somehow, I am finding a way to tolerate it.

Right now, I feel pain that is different but is hard to identify, coming on the heels of the revelation and realization of my essential attraction to Booth, on what feels like an atomic level, as well as the still throbbing exit wound of his false death. Zach wasn't essential to my being. I don't feel as though something has been ripped out of me. I feel as though I have failed. That something built is fallen. That something grown has withered.

I have been eating, whatever Booth might think, and taking care of myself. I have _thought_ about what Zach's actions meant for him and me. I _hate_ _hate hate_ all the euphemisms for pure thought, for what a mind can do. I am not "processing" and I am not "working through it", but I am thinking about it. I am. I'll be damned if I am going to let him condescend to taking me out, out of some misguided sense of—

His barely audible growl interrupts my thought. "Please, Bones." He reaches out and loops the tips of his fingers around the tips of mine, wiggles them a little. "I'm crawling out of my skin here."

How does he do it? Goddamn it. "Fine. Let me get my coat. I'm not dressing up."

"Fine." He doesn't look like someone who won a point. Doesn't smile. As I stalk past him he runs a hand through his hair, rubs his neck tiredly.

Once my coat is on, I turn back to him. "Coming?"

"Yeah." He walks over to where I stand at the door. "Where do you want to go?"

"Booth, you invited me. Traditionally it is the person who issues the invitation who—"

"Why do you have to lecture me, Bones?" There is just a hint of banter in his question. Enough to get us out the door. I do my part.

"To educate you, Booth. How else will you learn?" His hand shoots out automatically to make sure the elevator doors won't shut on me as I enter.

"T.V. I learn a lot from watching T.V. And Parker, he tells me things too. And you know, Bones, I do have a college degree, and I am a _Special_ Agent with the F.B.I. with many commendations to my name."

"As if I didn't have something to do with those commendations..."

It feels good, if a little forced, after everything, to banter. And his mood, still dark, seems a little lighter. And I feel an iota less like a failure.

***********************************************B&B ************************************************** *

Booth realized his hands were still for the first time today. His poker chip rested quietly in his pocket. He didn't feel good. He felt lousy. He was sitting across the table at a bar he'd never been to, drinking flat beer. But he was with Bones.

Brennan was tired. She could feel it in her shoulders and arms, her back and her feet. Too much time standing at her tables studying bones. She could be stretched out in bed right now, reading. But she was with Booth.

Booth drove them to a part of town where the nightlife was just starting. She didn't stop him. Together they chose a bar they had never been to before. It was still unclear whether they were Booth and Brennan or Tony and Roxie. Since they exited the car, their conversation had been confined to brief sentences about where to go.

And now, they sat together. Silent and unsure of what to say but together. He looked up, caught her eye. She didn't smile back politely. She didn't do that. But she did feel she should offer something.

"Martin Biron."

"_What?!_" But he recovered quickly, a smile stretching across his face. "Goalie for the Flyers? How..." He stopped and cleared his throat, looked down at his beer and then glanced up again from beneath his brows, "Dorothy Mary Crowfoot Hodgkin."

Now it was her turn to smile. "British X-ray crystallographer and chemist." She confirmed. "Gordon Sumner."

"Oh please. Sting. Leslie Lynch King."

"Challenge."

"Gerald Ford."

"Who is that?"

Booth groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Brennan smiled a little.

The beer wasn't as flat as all that. And the bar was kind of nice, for a dive. They didn't stay more than an hour probably, but when Booth drove them home, he felt a little better. He parked illegally so he could walk her to her door. And because she felt a little better too, she didn't object.

She unlocked the door and pushed it ajar a little, turning to say good night. He was closer than she thought he was going to be, and he looked surprised too, taking a step away quickly. She took a step forward and just as quickly was in his space again. Magnetic.

"Bo—" Before he could finish, she stretched up and kissed him. His mouth opened over hers immediately and his hand thrust into her hair, holding her to him. Even if she had wanted to get away, she couldn't, and she felt a stab of desire spike through her at his roughness, at his lack of control. She wasn't the only one. She didn't know how long he would let her kiss him like this and she made the most of every second, stroking his tongue with hers, pressing hard enough to feel and then backing off to _slow sweet wet open mouths_. She moaned and he moaned too, at the sound.

She felt his hands on his shoulders and he pushed her away from him. She stood, almost panting with want, and must have made some movement toward him because his dark eyes got even darker. She let out her breath on an almost inaudible moan and leaned in toward him again.

"No." He rasped, but only just managed to keep the necessary inches between their faces. And that's all he could do. He couldn't seem to pull all the way away and now they were breathing each other's breath and her lips were still shiny and swollen. He heard a little sound, knew he had made it, a giving-in. And framing her face with his hands, he let his lips wander and stroke over her face. He pressed kisses on her neck and behind her ear, all the while leaving his hands on her shoulders, as if this was going to end any second. He was going to end it any second. They _couldn't_ do this. It would change everything. But he _wanted _her. And he felt her responding.

"We can't." He rasped against her bare shoulder, shirt pushed aside roughly. He could _not_ pull away but he could keep still, poised above the fine bones, the sensitive skin, _her._

"_Damn." _ Her hands had slid boldly under his shirt and were splayed against his stomach, stroking his sides and his back...rogue hands, because she pressed the side of her face, _hard_, against the side of his. The pain of it, of cheekbone grinding against cheekbone, of the rough whiskers paved a patch of reddened skin on her face, all combined to combat the temptation to turn just a few degrees more and open her mouth again on his face, his chin, his lips. "_Ohhhh. Oh no." _His lips. She could just kiss him again. He couldn't, wouldn't, resist this time.

But she didn't. And he didn't. Her hands stilled but didn't withdraw, pressed against the smooth skin of his lower back. His hands still gripped her shoulders, his lips still hovered, but no longer brushed. Together they moved a tiny step away from each other. _Almost together anyway. Did one of them move first? If so, it was so close that it didn't matter. Except that it almost __**hurt.**_And then they straightened, still unable to move more than an inch apart, breath hot on each other's faces. After long, long moments, their chests almost touching with every deep inhalation, one or both of them stepped another small step back.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"  
"Want to have lunch tomorrow at the diner?"

He watched her face soften, her head tilt, and a crooked smile quirk up one corner of her mouth. He felt his heart move a little sideways in his chest.

She acknowledged that despite how appealing she found the sharp planes of his face, how satisfying it had been to feel them under her mouth, the anticipation of his company tomorrow was even more compelling.

He turned and walked away. That was hard for him, walking away.

She didn't turn or go into her apartment, but watched him stride gracefully toward the elevator. She held up one hand when he glanced back, as he always did, always would. That was hard for her, not turning away.

Sleep came hard to both of them that night. But the dreams were very, very sweet.


	7. Chapter 7: Whispers

Thank you dharmamonkey for the beta. Thank you everyone for such a great response to this story. Thank you to all open-minded, tolerant, caring, creative people who support schools-whether or not they have children or nieces or nephews or grandchildren or god children or neighbors' children of their own-and the work of teachers (and I mean teachers who teach, school secretaries who teach, guidance counselors, principals, parent volunteers, janitorial staff who teach. All of us. Every one.). Thank you. That is, of course, apropos of nothing, really. Back to our regularly scheduled **programme**. That's riiiiiight. Tony and Roxie go to Oxford!

* * *

Thirty six hours later, they were in Oxford.

Surprisingly, things had been pretty easy between them since that night. Whatever they each thought personally about when, if ever, was going to be the right time to act on their attraction to each other, both of them clearly agreed that now was a time to take a step back, or at least, not the time to try to move forward. They met for breakfast the next morning, as agreed, and discussed the details of their joint trip to Oxford.

Booth joked around and mispronounced British names and places. Brennan corrected him and asked him about his plans for his own presentation to Scotland Yard. When they parted, they agreed to drive to the airport together, Booth grumbling about how at the end of their drive, she'd be riding in First Class and he would be relegated to coach. Brennan thought about upgrading him, but frankly, she didn't want to upset the apple carriage by tinkering with long-standing status divisions between them, however unfair she had come to see them. Not to mention hours of close proximity. So she decided to leave things as they were.

When Booth _didn't_ complain about the cramped ride but walked stiffly out of Heathrow with her, Brennan regretted her decision. Coach couldn't have been good for his back. She resolved to upgrade his ticket on the way home.

They checked into their hotels—hers SO much better than his—without incident and the next day passed in parallel pursuits with their colleagues. Booth was pleased when she pointedly invited him to attend her speech in Oxford their second day in England and then was pleased again when she acknowledged his contributions to their shared work. He really was exhausted though. The London force was like cops everywhere and he had had one hell of a good time at the pub last night.

The group of Scotland Yard officers he was with had given him the name of a couple of pubs where West Ham supporters went to watch the matches, should he still be in London on Saturday afternoon. He wasn't really follow soccer all that much, but he liked it well enough and, well, a sport was a sport. It was great to spend the evening in a place where everyone knew the names of the players, everyone had seen the latest match, everyone had opinions on how the team should be run. He and Bones were scheduled to fly out Saturday morning, though, so the chances of actually seeing a match on home soil, even in a pub, were slim to none.

Brennan had been to the theater with two anthropologists colleagues. She had twice been on digs with the partnered pair and had found them to be respectful of her privacy but generally congenial. They had been genuinely pleased to hear from her and had offered to get tickets to a play and take her to dinner. They were funny and had just returned from a fascinating dig; she had a wonderful time with them, and even with the theater engagement, fell into bed just before midnight.

And then, murder. Two murders.

********************B&B************************

Booth leaned against the wall, giving Bones and Wexler the _prih-vuh-see_ that the slick Brit had asked for. He hoped that Bones saw through Wexler's act. _Smarmy bastard_ he thought as he watched the guy suck up to Bones. He watched as Bones smiled at Wexler and Booth wondered if she was flirting back but when they drove out to the crime scene and examined the disgusting bones in the car, she seemed normal enough.

At times like these, seeing her in her element—speaking before an awed auditorium full of people, and now enjoying the easy efficiency of their partnership as they investigated a girls' murder, he is even more aware of how special she is, how lucky he is.

******************B&B*************************

Later, Ian was even more direct about his desire to have intercourse with me. Booth was back to his former good humor and his behavior toward me had been so _normal_ that I wondered if perhaps I hadn't overestimated his attraction to me. My attraction to him remained the same, but I had spent years controlling it and I could get it back under control now. In fact, I seemed to be doing quite well. So I didn't turn Ian down, although I found I didn't feel comfortable encouraging him outright either.

Later, Booth, his big body contorted in the little car he insisted on driving, was having difficulties negotiating a traffic circle. In addition to that, we took a call from Cam at the same time. In retrospect, perhaps adding this last interaction was ill-advised. I commented on his agitation.

"Okay, look. I'm not agitated, okay? I'm agitated because of driving this little car, that's all. Look, Wexler is just - I'm not agitated because of you and Dr. Wexler. Wexler's just another guy looking for a one-night stand. That's it. Whoa."

"So?"

"So, he doesn't take it seriously."

"Seriously? What do you mean? You never laugh during sex? Because I do. Whoa, do you see that lorry?"

"I see that lorry. It's a truck, okay? We're an American, and that is a truck. I laugh during sex. It's just, it's not that kind of serious."

"Well, I think Dr. Wexler is serious about having sex with me. Very interested."

"There's not a guy in this country who wouldn't want to have sex with you. Probably half the gay men...whoa, easy."

"Are you being nice about me or awful about British men?"

"Wexler is not special; you are."

"You think I'm special?"

"Of course I think you're special, yes."

Despite the fact that Booth just complimented me, implying that I am beautiful enough to have liaisons with almost any man, I find that I have lost any desire I may have had to sleep with Ian Wexler.

****************B&B*******************

The murder of Portia Frampton was only just concluded when the awful business of Ian's death kept the American partners in London another week. Their tickets home had been put on hold and it wasn't until this murder resolved, with greed at its root—that Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan booked their flights home.

Having one last cup of tea at a fancy restaurant was where Inspector Pritchard found the pair. She had purchased a Junior Knight ribbon for Agent Booth as a thank you and hoped that maybe she could entice him up to her flat for a few hours before he had to leave for his flight. When she offered to give him a ride to the airport, though, the handsome American mentioned that Dr. Brennan had ordered a limo and Dr. Brennan chose that moment to offer her condolences about Ian. Was the woman really that guileless or was she deliberately staking her claim, reminding Pritch that she had already climbed her Mount Everest. Whichever it was, the moment was lost and while Agent Booth's offer to look him up in the States took a bit of the sting out of the rejection, it was with a heavy heart, and no prospect of losing herself in a man's body, that Inspector Pritchard started off for home.

**************B&B******************

Bones' lighthearted mood lasted all the way to the airport. Booth took a call from Charlie while Bones checked in for them. He watched her as he talked and suddenly realized from her body language, something wasn't right. He straightened from where he leaned against the wall by a bank of windows, ready to step in, but she was arguing with a diminutive female attendant and didn't seem in any sort of danger. _Probably arguing over the thickness of the padded slippers, or having a vegetarian meal instead of filet mignon, _Booth thought sourly as he imagined his own dried up dinner.

Bones glanced over at him and he raised his eyebrows in inquiry. She waved him off and turned back to the attendant, her posture showing him that she had decided something. He should probably feel badly for the poor woman on the receiving end of her decision, but he had to admit, he loved seeing her riled up. As Charlie continued to update him on several of his outstanding cases, he saw Bones step aside and make a phone call herself. As he snapped his phone shut, she turned his way as well, pocketing her own phone and striding boldly toward him.

"What's up, Bones?"

"Up, Booth?"

"Yeah, what happened? Where are our tickets?" Her face twisted in dissatisfaction and she looked away. _She has a secret_, Booth realized. Or rather, _had _a secret. Now she has to tell him and she's pissed. "Why don't you just tell me, Bones? It'll make you feel better to come clean."

"I don't feel dirty, Booth, but you are correct in your implication. I…called to upgrade your ticket to first class this morning—"

"Bones, you did? That's great!"

But she hadn't finished yet, "—and the sales representative assured me that the change had been made. Now I find that not only were you not upgraded to first class, your original seat has been cancelled."

"Wow. That sucks." He thought a second. "Well, I guess we'll put you on this flight and I'll just take a later one." He felt really terrible at the thought of flying home separately from her.

"No, Booth. I told them to put us both on a different flight and that your upgrade to first class would be free of charge. They agreed but the flight is tomorrow afternoon."

Booth felt the smile stretch his face wide, knew he was grinning like a fool. That she would do that for him...

"Oh. Oh, well, that's okay. We'll just stay another night. Maybe go out on the town." He smiled, and slipped his arm around her, hand in the small of her back, gladder than he should be at the chance to spend some free time with her.

Her shoulders loosened at his mild response—_had she been worried about his reaction?_—and she even leaned in a little. "I have to admit, I don't mind the idea of staying another night in London. I find this city very stimulating. I booked you a room in my hotel."

His grin broadened and he moved his hand up to pull her into him by the shoulder. "Now that _is_ great, Bones. Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

"It was the least I could do since it was my fault that your seat was cancelled."

"Well, I'll take you out—Hey! There is a game this afternoon. West Ham United! We can go to one of the pubs that Dex said was good. He said that everyone tries to go to The Green Man or something that sounds like Bow-lin—"

"Boleyn? As in Anne Boleyn, Queen of England from 1533 to 1536, second wife of—"

"Yeah, maybe that was it. But anyway, those pubs are the ones that get most crowded with tourists. He said that The Duke of Edinburgh was quieter but still packed on game day. Let's go, Bones, it'll be fun. A chance to experience the local color…"

While they had been talking, they had gathered and wheeled out their belongings, forgetting they had come by limo.

"C'mon, Bones, let's catch a cab…the Brits _do_ have great taxis," he commented as a shiny black boxy car pulled up to carry them back to London. Luggage stowed, Booth let Brennan climb in ahead of him and then settled next to her. They both spent a few minutes looking out the nearest window, thinking about the change in plans. Or at least Booth was. He wasn't sure what Brennan was thinking about. Not that he usually did.

As he watched the early afternoon traffic speed by and around them, he thought about how Tony would love to be in London and about that first night they went out, how Bones invented a trip to Italy for Roxie. When they pulled up in front of Bones' fancy hotel, Booth said to her, and to the driver, "Wait here for a minute." Ignoring Bones' confused expression, he leapt from the cab and unloaded all the luggage. He called the bellhop over and asked him to get the concierge, tipping him generously. When the concierge appeared a minute later, Booth paid him too. Free of the luggage, knowing that they wouhe climbed back into the cab and asked the driver to take them to the shopping district.

"Which one?" the driver asked in his British-y way. Booth suspected that his accent was the equivalent of blue collar Philly but it all sounded poncey to him.

"There's more than one?"

"Booth, what are you doing?"

He glanced over quickly even as he leaned forward to converse with the driver. "Taking you shopping, Bones." Her mouth opened. "Trust me," he said. Her mouth closed and she settled back finally with the hint of a challenge in her eye and on her slightly curved lip. _This had better be worth it._ He just smiled and continued his discussion with the driver.

When they finally agreed on Mayfair, they were halfway there. Still enough time for Booth to lean in to Brennan and say smoothly, a cocky smile on the lips that hovered close above hers, in the one blue collar accent guaranteed to put a light in her eye, "Think London is ready for us, Rox?"

*********************B&B*******************

Playing Tony and Roxie hadn't been so truly dramatic since Las Vegas. Melodramatic, really, just like those old Clara Bow movies. I made Booth let me shop alone so he would be surprised by whatever I chose and I ended up finding a hot pink dress that covered one shoulder and arm but then cut diagonally across my chest so that my other shoulder and arm were bare. I bought sparkly dangling earrings but left my throat bare, unwilling to examine too closely the strategies I was employing to engage a man's sexual interest. The dress was tight enough, short enough, that my bare neck was the least of it, but I smiled in the mirror nevertheless, pleased with my choice.

In a shoe boutique on the next block I purchased open toed black sandals that were sexy but still suitable for walking or dancing since I didn't know how late we'd be out. The young man who sold me the shoes recommended a make-up shop nearby where I paid for a makeover. I listened carefully to the counter girl's chatter about her boyfriends and flat mates, and told her I had an important date tonight. She insisted on helping me with my hair as well as my make up and put my hair up loosely, leaving strands hanging that she curled with a small curling wand. I paid and tipped her well. Thanking her, I texted Booth to meet me by the EAT stand we passed on the main corner.

Just as I waited on the sidewalk to cross the street to him, I saw Booth at a newsstand purchasing something. I had caught him unaware and even with that advantage, I had to stop to stare. He had on dark jeans and wore a black shirt and black blazer. He wore some sort of chunky footwear and I could see the gleam of a chain at his throat. As I looked, appreciating the way his broad shoulders filled out his coat, he turned his head and looked directly at me.

I felt the connection between us snap into place, an almost physical sensation. I ignored the visceral thrum of recognition and pleasure and crossed to him, surprised at the intensity of the look he gave me until I remembered my new dress. Remembering all the protocols, the new history of Tony and Roxie, I rose up on my toes to give him a kiss on the cheek and leaned into him.

"Tony, honey, you look good enough to eat." I purred sweetly in his ear.

He shifted and pulled me into him, returning my kiss with his own just beside my ear. "Roxie, babe, you look more beautiful every time I see you."

I couldn't help it and beamed up at him. Booth laughed and said, "Let's go get a place at the bar, Rox." And I laughed and said, "Sure thing, doll. I don't want my man to miss opening kickoff." And he groaned and lectured me all the way to The Duke about how it wasn't called a kickoff.

********************B&B*****************

It was as if everything was back to normal. Me and Bones solving murders as partners, and sometimes doing things together as friends. Very rarely indulging in an amazing night out as Tony and Roxie. Things didn't need to change. Getting out of D.C. had clarified things, was good for us, obviously.

Roxie was just as hot as ever. And, since nothing was going to happen, since we were absolutely back on track, I had to admit, she was more beautiful than she ever had been. Her hair was pulled up, but was a little looser than Bones usually wore it, and the dress was pure Roxie. But her eyes were Bones eyes', pale and incisive, cutting right through me. More than one thug in the bar stopped to look at her. I kept her pulled right into me, protecting her. She flirted and laughed with me _where did she learn to do that? _and drank the beer I bought her. She didn't have a necklace on and again and again I found my eyes lingering where there usually was one.

The only time she broke character, and even then, not really, was when she leaned up to ask me questions in my ear. The bar was loud with fans singing the songs. _Why do sometimes the players wait until everyone is set up and ready to take the penalty kick, but sometimes the player taking the kick drops the ball and kicks it as quickly as possible? _ How am I supposed to answer something like that whispered in my ear, bringing the blood to the surface of my skin? But I did, I suppose, or she would have asked again.

_Why are they singing? What are they singing? _she asked me. "The fans sing, Rox, I don't know why, it's just tradition," I said close to her face, leaning in so she could hear me, my eyes caught by the white gleam of her teeth below the red, red lips. _What are they singing now?_ "Babe, I think that's the 'We are better than you and are going to kick your ass' song." Knowing my answer would make her laugh didn't make me any less happy to hear it. _What are they singing now?_ "I think that is the 'We are better than you even though you got a goal and we are still going to kick your ass.' song." Again, a trill of a laugh that moved her body against mine, that caused heads to turn.

We moved to another bar after that, one with good food, and we ate at the bar, sharing bites, leaning into each other, laughing, talking. After dinner we walked, holding hands, and it was easy, so easy. And sometime during that night I realized that even though we were Tony and Roxie, we were talking as Booth and Brennan, pointing out things we had noticed about our friends, our workplaces, our city. And still, we were holding hands. And I, suddenly, was holding my breath.

**************************B&B********************* **

It wasn't very late, but we were back at the hotel. Booth walked me to my door and we entered together. Casually, he reached past me to flick on a small table lamp, his smell and the feel of his clothing familiar to me from our hours spent together. He pulled back a few steps, not close anymore really, and straightened. I stood facing him. We had been talking but weren't any longer. I couldn't remember what we had been saying. Standing there, looking across the space between us, I leaned my head to the side and smiled at his familiar face, so handsome, his deep brown eyes warm and intense on mine.

The sharp planes of his face showed signs of rough whiskers. His nostrils flared gently with his breath. I couldn't look away, and his face studied mine, solemnly. I wondered what he saw that he looked for so intently.

I felt as much as saw his body shift as he walked easily forward to me. Direct and as I thought before, solemn. His hands reached up and over my shoulders, carefully, not touching me until I felt the rough pads of his fingers on the back of my neck. And then I felt him unzip my dress, from the sensitive spot in the middle of my upper back to a point well below my waist. The dress, without its zipper, was now just fabric, and it fell to the floor in a whisper of sound. I stood, naked but for shoes and panties and demi-bra, when Booth stepped into me. My arms snaked under his jacket, loving the feel of his hard chest, his dark clothing, rough against my skin. One large warm hand pressed into the hollow of my back, pulling me into him.

I was almost naked and yet I didn't feel vulnerable. As my head tipped back and his lips started moving against my neck, I felt as though I had met my match. As I threaded my hands through the hair at the back of his neck and pulled, I felt his groan and swallowed it as I sealed my mouth against his, unable to keep us apart any longer.

* * *

A/N: The M rated missing scene following this final paragraph is located in a separate story called Missing Scenes from the Further Adventures of Tony and Roxie, of course! 3sq.


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